I 


t 


Lane'  s   Un ifo rm  Edition 


RICHELIEU. 


jS  tal 


E    OF   FRANCE 


♦^  ^- 


BY 


G.  P.  R.  JAMES,  ESQ. 


[N  TWO  VOLUMES. 


VOL.  I. 


SANDBORNTON,  N.  H. 
SHED   BY   CHARLES   LAJNE 


1841. 


Ster^ 


S 

73^ 


PREFACE 


Dearly  beloved  Reader, 

Although  I  call  the  ibllowing  pages  mine,  and 
upon  ihe  strength  of  them  write  myself  author,  yet 
1  must  in  truth  confess,  that  1  have  very  little  to  do 
with  them,  and  still  less  to  do  with  the  story  they 
record  ;  and  therefore  1  am  fain  to  Ueat  the  world 
with  something  of  my  own  exclusive  composition,  in 
the  shape  of  a  preface.  The  facts  of  the  case  are 
as  follow  :  I  one  day  possessed  myself  of  a  bundle 
of  manuscript  notes — no  matter  when  or  how,  so 
that  they  were  honestly  come  by,  for  that  is  all  that 
yo\i,  or  1,  or  Sir  Richard  Birnie,have  to  do  with  the 
matter.  Now  I  say  they  were  honestly  come  by, 
and  the  onus  probandi  must  rest  upon  the  other 
party.     So  no  more  of  that. 

My  dear  Mr.  Colburn,  where  was  1  ?  I  quite  for- 
get— Oh,  now  1  have  it!  Having  one  day  possessed 
myself  of  a  bundle  of  manuscript  notes, — honestly 
come  by, — I  proceeiled  to  read  them,  and  alihough 
the  hand  was  small  and  crooked,  with  all  the  ^''s 
shaped  like  Laocoons,  and  every  g  like  a  pair  of 
spectacles,  yet  there  was  souiething  in  the  tale  there 
written  that  made  me  read  it  through  before  I  rose 
off  my  chair,  although  1  did  not  then  know,  what  I 
have  since  discovered,  that  every  word  of  it  was 
true.  JNow  this  is  an  advantage  which  you,  my  dear 
reader,  have  over  me  in  perusing  this  history  for  the 


4  prefacp:. 

first  time ;  for  unquestionably  even  upon  my  pure 
ipse  dixit,  yon  will  believe  that  the  whole  of  the  two 
volumes  which  follow,  is  neither  more  or  less  than 
a  plain  and  simple  narration  of  facts.  ISeve^lheless, 
in  case  there  should  be  in  the  world  any  person  so 
skeptical  as  to  doubt  the  assertion,  even  of  a  novel- 
ist, I  will  refer  my  reader  to  the  well-known  authori- 
ties of  the  day,  and  merely  observe,  that  though 
there  may  be  some  discrepancy  in  ilie  dates,  and 
some  difference  in  the  names,  yet  every  individual 
circumstance  recorded  in  these  pages  will  be  found 
to  be  collaterally  verified  by  contemporary  writers 
of  good  repute,  who,  however,  did  not  know  so  much 
of  the  detail  of  the  events  in  question  as  are  disclos- 
ed in  the  old  manuscript  alluded  to,  nor  were  they, 
like  the  wYiter  of  that  document,  acquainted  with 
the  real  causes  of  those  movements  which  shook 
the  whole  of  France,  and  which,  originating  in  the 
heart  of  the  court,  could  only  be  detected  by  one 
who  was  himself  a  resident  there.  To  you,  my  dear 
reader,  whose  confidence  in  my  word  I  know  to  be 
as  unbounded  as  the  conscience  of  a  tailor,  or  the 
st<  mach  of  an  alderman,  I  have  only  to  remark,  that 
the  hero  of  my  tale  is  by  no  means  of  fabulous  per- 
son. 

My  story  opens  with  the  latter  years  of-the  reign 
of  Louis  XII  i.  King  of  France — a  period  memorable 
in  English  annals  from  the  civil  wars  which  then 
raged  between  Charles  I.  and  his  rebellious  parlia- 
ment, and  no  less  memorable  in.  the  history  of 
France,  as  the  most  terrific  portion  of  Fiichelieu's 
bloody  domination. 

At  the  death  of  Henry  IV.  the  regency  of  the  king- 
dom during  his  son's  minority  was  seized  upon  by 
Mary  de  Medicis,  a  woman  of  considerable  talent 
and  of  vast  ambition,  whose  primary  object  seems 
to  have  been  so  to  secure  the  sovereign  power  to 
herself,  that  Louis  during  her  life  should  remain  in 
a  state  of  tutelage. 

In  such  projects,  but  still  more  in  her  obstinate 
partiality  for  the  celebrated  Marechal  d'Ancre  and 


PREFACE.  5 

his  wife,  originated  a  thousand  factions  and  civil 
wars,  wliich  kept  the  country  in  a  continual  state  of 
tumult  during  the  king's  minority.  These  factions, 
and  liiG  circumstances  which  they  engendered, 
necessarily  gave  rise  to  various  rapid  changes  in  the 
queen's  ministry,  and  amid  these,  for  the  .first  time, 
appeared  on  the  political  stage  Richelieu,  then  Bis- 
hop of  Lucon.  His  prospects  yet  doubtful^  and  his 
ambition  still  in  its  infancy,  Richelieu  made  mild- 
ness and  courtesy  his  first  steps  towards  pre-emi- 
nence. He  contented  himself  with  an  inferior  sta- 
tion in  the  council  :  his  urbanity  and  his  talents 
proved  equally  agreeable  and  useful;  and  no  one 
beheld  in  the  calm  and  polished  Bishop  of  Lu9on, 
and  projnise  of  the  aspiring  and  remorseless  Cardi- 
nal de  Richelieu. 

A  circumstance,  however,  occurred  almost  in  the 
outset  of  his  career,  which  had  nearly  thrown  him 
for  ever  from  the  destined  scene  of  his  aggrandize- 
ment. This  was  the  fall  of  the  Marechal  d'Ancre, 
and  the  arrest  of  the  queen-mother. 

On  the  marriage  of  Louis  Xlil.,  the  jealous  eye 
of  ftJary  de  Medicis  soon  perceived  her  son's  first 
affection  towards  his  young  wife,  and,  fearful  of  an 
influence  which  might  spring  up  to  counteract  her 
own.  she  found  means  to  destroy,  without  remorse, 
the  domestic  happiness  of  her  child,  in  order  to 
secure  her  own  dominion  over  him.  But  while  she 
fomented  every  disagreement  between  Louis  and 
his  wife,  and  watched  the  least  symptom  of  reviving 
affection  vviih  the  suspicious  anxiety  of  uncertain 
power,  she  blindly  suffered  near  his  person  of  fa- 
vourite who  combined  with  the  genius  to  form  great 
designs,  the  most  consummate  art  to  conceal  them. 
Monsieur  de  Luynes,  it  appears,  from  the  first 
moment  of  his  intimacy  with  the  king,  projected  his 
master's  deliverance  from  the  tyranny  of  Mary  de 
Medicis  ;  but  lest  he  should  be  suspected  of  such 
designs,  he  hid  them  beneath  the  mask  of  levity  and 
thoughtlessness.  It  would  be  little  appropriate  here 
to  enter  more  largely  into  the  details  of  these  pro- 


6  ,  PREFACE. 

ceedingg.  Suffice  it  that  in  the  end  the  queen's  fa- 
vourite was  shot  as  he  entered  tlie  palace  of  the 
Lauvre,  and  she  herself  was  instantly  arres'ed  and 
exiled  to  Blois.  Among  others  of  her  council  who 
shared  in  the  fall  of  the  queen,  was  Richelieu,  and 
for  some  time  he  remained  in  exile  at  Avignon. 

The  queen's  party,  however,  was  still  strong  in 
France  ;  and  in  her  misfortunes,  the  factions  and 
discontented,  who  had  formerly  opposed  her  mea- 
sures merely  because  she  held  the  reins  of  govern- 
ment, now  supported  her  against  the  hand  to  which 
those  reins  had  been  transferred.  A  civil  war  seem- 
ed inevitable,  and  in  order  to  avert  such  an  event, 
the  king's  advisers  found  themselves  obliged  to  ne- 
gotiate with  the  princess  whom  they  had  disposses- 
sed 5  but  Mary  rejected  all  intercession,  and  it  was 
not  till  the  return  of  Richelieu  that  any  compromise 
could  be  effected.  That  minister,  however,  with 
the  deep  diplomatic  skill  for  which  he  was  con- 
spicuous, instantly  availed  himself  of  the  weak  point 
in  the  character  of  his  mistress,  and  through  the 
medium  of  her  confessor  won  her  to  his  purpose.  A 
reconciliation  was  now  speedily  effected  between 
Mary  and  her  son,  and  Richelieu  having  become 
the  friend  of  the  one  and  the  confidant  of  the  other, 
saw  himself  placed  more  surely  than  ever  in  the 
road  to  political  eminence.  Alnny  circumstances 
combined  to  accelerate  his  progress.  The  death 
of  the  Duke  de  Luynes.  the  religious  wars  still  rag- 
ing in  the  heart  of  the  kingdom,  and  the  renewed 
differences  between  the  king  and  his  mother, — all 
gave  the  rising  minister  the  means  of  increasing  his 
power,  and  the  opportunity  of  displaying  the  vast 
energies  of  his  extraordinary  mind.  All  was  sub- 
dued before  him;  the  queen-mother  exiled,  the 
Protestants  were  crushed,  and  the  king  himself  be- 
came the  slave  of  Richelieu. 

But  power  so  acquired  was  only  to  be  maintained 
at  the  expense  of  much  blood.  Conspiracy  after 
conspiracy  was  formed  to  cast  off  his  dominion,  and 
more  than  one  insurrection  burst  forth  in  opposition 


PREFACE.  7 

to  his  tyranny ;  but  each  in  turn  was  overthrown, 
and  the  blood  of  the  conspirators  only  served  to 
cement  the  fabric  of  liis  greatness — usurped  power 
must  till  have  some  object  for  suspicion,  and  after 
having  quelled  all  his  more  powerful  adversaries, 
the  jealousy  of  Richelieu  turned  tovvards  the  young 
queen,  persecuting  her  with  such  uncalled-for 
virulence  as  to  induce  many  to  believe  that  his 
hatred  proceeded  from  some  more  private  and  per- 
sonal cause  that  was  apparent. 

In  the  mean  time,  Louis  himself,  seldom  called 
upon  except  as  a  state  puppet  to  sign  some  ordi- 
nance, or  hold  some  council  under  the  direction  of 
Richelieu,  lingered  on  in  inactivity,  yielding  one 
privilege  after  another  to  the  grasping  ambition  of 
his  minister,  without  the  dignity  of  royalty  or  the' 
peace  of  private  life.  It  is  true  that,  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  he  was  roused  by  circumstances  to 
put  forth  the  native  energies  of  his  mind,  but  this 
was  most  frequently  on  some  trifling  occurrence. 
And  though  the  momentary  flashes  of  a  vigorous 
intellect  would  show  that  nature  had  been  original- 
ly bountiful  to  him,  yet  he  never  evinced  any  steady 
determination  of  purpose.  Richelieu  spared  no 
pains  to  secure  the  power  he  had  acquired:  and 
that  he  might  leave  the  king  no  means  of  extricat- 
ing himself,  plunged  the  kingdom  in  wars  and 
negotiations,  which  he  well  knew  that  none  but 
himself  could  conduct  with  success.  But  here  in- 
deed his  genius  showed  itself  resplendent.  The 
government  of  a  world  seemed  in  his  hands,  and 
yet  he  managed  the  complicated  machine  steadily 
and  firmlv,  with  a  clear,  discerning  eye,  and  a  calm, 
unshrinking  heart.  Nevertheless,  whether  it  was 
that  the  multitude  of  his  other  avocations  diverted 
his  attention  from  the  minor  regulations  of  the  king- 
dom, or  whether,  as  some  believe,  he  encouraged 
a  disorganized  state  of  the  interior  for  political  pur- 
poses, it  must  be  acknowledged  that  all  contem- 
porary accounts  represent  the  internal  police  of 
France  during  his  administration  as  in  a  strangely 


5  PREFACE. 

deranged  condition — a  condition  little  to  have  been 
expected  from  the  vigour  of  his  government,  and  the 
severe  exactitude  of  his  disposition. 

But  so  it  was.  The  partisans  of  the  various  fac- 
tions which  had  long  been  imbodied  as  armies, 
were  fain,  after  his  measures  had  dispersed  thera 
as  considerable  bodies,  to  take  refuge  in  the  less 
cultivated  parts  of  the  country — the  mountains,  the 
forests,  or  the  wastes;  and  as  they  had  before  lived 
by  anarchy,  they  now  contrived  to  subsist  by  plun- 
der. The  nobles  being  called  from  their  strong- 
holds to  expensive  cities,  and  compelled  by  Riche- 
lieu's jealousy  to  show  themselves  continually  at 
his  luxurious  court,  could  no  longer  maintain  the 
host  of  retainers  which  had  formerly  revelled  at 
their  expense,  and  these  also  were  obliged  to  join 
themselves  to  the  various  bands  of  freebooters  that 
infested  the  country.  Occasionally  a  merciless  ex- 
ecution of  some  of  these  banditti  awed  the  rest  for 
a  time,  but  upon  examining  history,  even  to  the  end 
of  Richelieu's  life,  we  find  that  while  he  governed 
the  nobles  with  a  rod  of  iron,  saw  every  attempt  at 
conspiracy  with  a  prophet's  foresight,  and  repressed 
it  with  a  giant's  strength,  he  overlooked  or  forgave 
those  crimes  which  did  not  affect  his  political 
situation. 

Such  was  the  state  of  France  at  the  opening  of 
the  following  history  :  and  now  having  attempted  to 
prepare  my  reader's  mind  for  what  is  to  follow,  I 
have  only  farther  to  refer  him  to  the  notes  at  the 
end  of  the  second  volume,  in  confirmation  of  my 
assertion,  that  this  tale  is  entirely  true.  The  man- 
uscript from  which  it  is  rendered  in  its  present 
form,  possessed  that  air  of  fact  which  from  the  first 
left  very  little  doubt  on  my  mind  that  the  narrative 
was  authentic ;  but  not  content  with  this,  I  examin- 
ed the  best  authorities,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  find- 
ing that  ever  material  circumstance  was  perfectly 
unquestionable,  and  from  the  acquaintance  of  the 
original  writer  with  all  the  most  minute  points,  1 
cinnot  now  divest  myself  of  the  idea  that  he  must 


PUEFACE.  9 

have    been,   in  some   degree,  an  actor  in  what  he 
narrates. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  I  feel  sure  that  whoever 
peruses  it  to  the  end  will  be  perfectly  convinced 
of  its  truth  ;  and  in  the  hope  that  many  will  do  so, 
I  leave  them  to  commence  their  journey,  wishing 
them  all  a  safe  and  happy  arrival  at  its  conclu- 
eion. 


RICHELIEU 


CHAPTER  T. 


Which  shows  what  a  French   forest  was    in   the  year  of  our 
Lord  1642,  and  by  whom  it  was  inhabited. 

The  vast  Sylva  Lida,  which  in  tlie  days,  of 
Charlemagne  stretched  far  along  the  banks  of  the 
Seine,  and  formed  a  woody  screen  round  the  infant 
city  of  Paris,  has  now  dwindled  to  a  few  thousand 
acres  in  the  neighbourhood  of  St.  Germain  en 
Laye.  JNot  so  in  the  time  of  Louis  the  Thirteenth. 
It  was  then  one  of  the  most  magnificent  forests  of 
France,  and  extending  as  far  as  the  town  of  Mantes, 
took  indifferently  the  name  of  the  Wood  of  Mantes, 
or  the  Forest  of  Laye.  That  portion  to  thp  north  of 
St.  Germain  has  been  long  cut  down  :  yet  there  were 
persons  living,  not  many  years  since,  who  remem- 
bered some  of  the  old  trees  still  standing,  bare, 
desolate,  and  alone,  like  parents  who  had  seen  the 
children  of  their  hopes  die  around  them  in  their 
prime. 

Although  much  improvement  in  all  the  arts  of  life, 
and  much  increase  of  population  had  take  place 
during  the  latter  years  of  Henry  the  Fourth,  and  un- 
der the  regency  of  Mary  de  Medicis  ;  yet  at  the  time 
of  their  son  Louis  the  Thisteenth,  the  country  was 
still  but  thinly  peopled,  and  far  different  from  the 
gay,  thropped  land  that  it  appears  to-day.    For  be- 


12  RICHELIEU. 

sides  that  it  was  in  earlier  days,  there  had  been 
many  a  bitter  and  a  heavy  war,  not  only  of  France 
against  her  enemies,  but  of  France  against  her  chil- 
dren. Religious  and  political  differences  had  caused 
disunion  between  man  and  manjiad  banished  mutu- 
al confidence  and  social  intercourse,  and  raised  up 
those  t'euds  and  hatreds  which  destroy  domestic 
peace  and  retard  public  improvement.  Amid  gene- 
ral distrust  and  civil  wars,  industry  had  received  no 
encouragement;  and  where  stand  at  present  many 
a  full  hamlet  and  busy  village,  where  the  vineyard 
yields  its  abundance,  and  the  peasant  gathers  in 
peace  the  bounty  of  nature,  v.-ere  then  the  green 
copses  of  the  forest,  the  haunt  of  tlie  wild  boar  and 
deer.  The  savnge  tenants  of  the  wood,  however, 
did  not  enjoy  its  shelter  undisturbed  ;  for  in  those 
days  of  suspicion  hunting  was  a  safer  sport  than 
conversation,  and  the  Loughs  of  the  oak  a  more 
secure  covering  than  the  gilded  ceilings  of  the 
saloon. 

To  cur  pampered  countrymen,  long  nurtured  in 
that  peculiar  species  of  luxury  called  comfort,  the 
roads  of  France  even  now  must  seem  but  rude  and 
barbarous  constructions,  when  compared  with  the 
smooth,  joltless  causeways  over  v.riiich  thev  are 
borne  in  their  own  land  ;  but  in  the  time  of  Louis 
the  Thirteenth,  when  all  works  of  the  kind  were  car- 
ried on  by  the  seigneur  through  whose  estates  they 
passed,  few  but  the  principal  roads  between  one 
great  town  and  another  were  even  passable  for  a  car- 
riage. Those,  however,  which  traversing  the  wood 
of  jMantes,  served  as  means  of  access  to  the  royal 
residence  of  St.  Germain,  were  of  a  superior  kind, 
and  would  have  been  absolutely  good,  had  the  na- 
ture of  the  soil  afforded  a  steady  foundation  ;  but 
this  was  not  always  to  be  found  in  the  forest,  and 
the  engineer  had  shown  no  small  ingenuity  in  tak- 
ing advantage  of  all  the  most  solid  parts  of  the  land, 
and  in  avoiding  those  places  where  the  marshy  or 
sandy  quality  of  the  ground  offered  no  secure  basis. 
By  these  circumstances,  however,  he  was  obliged  to 


RICHELIEU.  IS 

deviate  sadly  from  those  principles  of  direct  pro- 
gression, so  denr  to  all  Frenchmen  ;  and  the  road 
from  St.  Germain  to  Mantes,  as  vvell  as  that  which 
branched  ofFfrom  it  to  join  the  iiigh-road  to  Chnrtres, 
instead  of  being  one  interminable,  monotonous, 
straight  line,  with  a  long  row  of  tre^s,  lilie  a  file  of 
grenadiers  on  each  side,  went  winding  in  and  out 
with  a  thousand  turnings  among  the  old  oaks  of  the 
forest,  that  seemed  to  stand  forward  and  stretch 
their  broad  branches  across  it,  as  if  willing  to  shel- 
ter it  from  the  obtrusive  rays  of  the  sun.  S'Une- 
limes,  climbing  the  side  of  a  hill,  it  would  suddenly 
display  a  wide  view  over  the  leafy  ocean  below,  till 
the  eye  caught  the  towers  and  spires  of  distant 
cities  breaking  the  far  gray  line  of  the  horizon. 
Sometimes,  descending  into  t!)e  depths  of  the 
forest,  it  would  almost  seem  to  lose  itself  among 
the  wild  groves  and  savannas,  being  itself  the  only 
trace  of  man's  laborious  hand  amid  the  wilderness 
around. 

In  the  heart  of  the  wood,  at  that  point  where  the 
two  roads  (which  I  have  mentioned)  divaricated 
from  each  other,  stood  the  hut  of  a  v^oodman,and 
the  abreuvoir  where  ujany  a  gay  lord  of  tlie  court 
would  stop  when  his  hunting  was  over,  and  give  his 
horse  time  to  drink.  .  There,  too,  many  a  traveller 
would  pause  to  ask  his  way  through  the  forest  ;  so 
that  Philip  the  woodman  and  his  young  family  were 
known  to  almost  all  whom  business  or  pleasure 
brougiit  tlirough  the  wood  of  Mantes  ;  and  alliiough, 
during  the  course  of  this  true  history,  princes  and 
heroes  may  become  the  subjects  of  discijurse,  it  is 
wit'i  Philip  that  we  must  commence  our  tale. 

Jt  was  at  that  season  of  the  year  when  tlie  iirst 
leaves  of  summer  begin  to  leave  the  biancn.es  from 
which  they  sprang,  like  the  bright  and  tender  hopes 
of  early  years,  that  fade  and  fall  before  the  autumn 
of  life  has  tuily  commenced.  The  sun  had  abated 
but  little  of  his  force,  and  the  days  scarcely  seemed 
to  have  contracted  their  span. 

The  time  of  day,  too,  was  like  the  period  of  the 


14  RICHELIEU. 

year,  "  falling  gently  into  the  sear,"  so  that  it  was 
only  a  scarce  perceptible  shadow,  stealing  over  the 
landscape,  which  told  that  the  great  power  ot"  light 
was  quitting  that  quarter  of  the  globe,  to  bestow 
the  equal  blessing  of  his  smile  on  other  nations  and 
on  distant  climes.  That  shadow  had  been  the  sig- 
nal for  Philip  the  woodman  to  return  towards  his 
home,  and  he  issued  forth  from  one  of  the  forest 
paths,  near  his  dwelling,  singing  as  he  came  the  old 
hunting-song  of  Le  bon  roi  Dagobert.* 

"  King  Dagohert  in  davs  of  3-ore 
Put  on  his  hose  wrong  side  before. 
Says  Si.  Eloi,  the  king's  old  squire, 
'  I  would  not  offend,  most  gracious  sire, 
But  may  your  slave  be  soundly  swiich'd, 
If  yourrnnjesty  is  not  o.ldly  breech'd, 
For  you've  got  the  wrong  side  before.' 
Says  ihe  king, '  I  do  not  care  a  groat ; 
One's  breeches  are  scarcely  w^lh  a  thought ; 
A  beggarV  a  king  when  he's  at  his  case, 
So  turn  them  about  which  way  vou  please, 
And  he  quick,  you  s '  " 

Now  St.  Hubert,  in  all  probability,  is  the  only 
person  who  corfectly  knows  how  it  happened  that 
the  very  unmeaning  and  inapplicable  ditty  of  Le 
bon  roi  Dagobert  should  have  been  appropriated  ex- 
clusively to  the  noble  exercise  of  hunting.  10  which 
it  has  no  reference  whatever  ;  but  so  it  has  been, 
and  even  to  the  present  day  where  is  the   chasseur 

*■  Tliis  song  of  Le  bon  roi  Da^obeft  is  in  the  original  very 
long,  and  ontains  a  great  deal  of  witty  ribaldry,  unfit  to  be 
inserted  here.  The  above  is  a  soineivhat  free  translation  of 
the  first  verse,  which  si  .r.  Is  thus  in  the  French  : 

"  Le  bon  roy  Dagobert 

Mettoit  ses  culoties  a  renvcrs. 

Le  bon  S  .  Eloi 

Lui  dit.  Oil  mon  roy  I 

Que  voire  M  ijcste 

Est  liien,  lual  cdlotie. 

p]h  bi(-n,  dit  ce  bon  roy, 

Je  consena  qu'on  les  mete  a  I'endroil." 


RICHELIEU.  15 

who  cannot,  as  he  returns  from  the  cbnce,  blow  the 
notes  or  sing  the  words  of  Le  hon  roi  Dagobert? 

Philip,  as  woodman,  had  heard  it  echoed  and  re- 
echoed through  the  forest  from  his  very  infancy  5 
and  now,  without  even  Itnowing  that  he  did  so,  he 
sang  it  as  a  matter  of  habit,  although  his  mind  was 
occupied  upon  another  subject :  as  men  are  always 
naturally  inclined  to  employ  their  corporeal  facul- 
ties on  some  indifferent  object,  when  their  mental 
ones  are  intensely  engaged  in  things  of  deeper  in- 
terest. 

Philip  advanced  slowly  along  the  road,  with  his 
brow  knit  in  such  a  manner  as  to  evince  that  his 
light  song  had  no  part  in  his  thoughts.  He  was  a 
man  perhaps  nearly  fifty,  still  hale  and  athletic, 
though  a  life  of  labour  had  changed  the  once  dark 
locks  of  his  hair  to  gray.  His  occupation  was  at 
once  denoted  by  his  dress,  which  consisted  simply 
of  a  lonj-bodied  blue  coat  of  coarse  cloth,  covered 
over,  except  the  arms,  with  what  is  called  in  Bri- 
tanny  a  peau  de  bicque.  or  goat-skin  :  a  pair  of  leath- 
er breeches,  cut  off  above  the  knee,  with  thick  gai- 
ters to  defend  his  legs  from  the  thorns,  completed 
his  dress  below  ;  and  a  round  broad-brimmed  hat 
was  brought  far  over  his  eyes,  to  keep  the njl^  from 
the  glare  of  the  declining  sun.  His  apparel  was 
girded  round  him  by  a  broad  buff  belt,  in  the  left  of 
which  hang  his  woodman's  knife  ;  in  the  right  he 
had  placed  tbe  huge  ax,  which  he  had  been  using  in 
his  morning's  occupation  ;  and  thus  accoutred, 
Philip  would  have  been  no  insignificant  opponent, 
had  he  met  with  any  of  those  lawless  rovers  who 
occasioiially  frequented  the  forest. 

As  he  approached  his  dwelling,  he  suddenly  stop- 
ped, broke  off  his  song,  and  turning  round,  listened 
for  a  moment  attentively  ■■,  but  the  only  noise  to  be 
heard  was  the  discordant  cry  of  the  jay  in  the  trees 
round  about;  and  the  only  living  things  visible  were 
a  few  wild  birds  overhead,  slowly  winging  their 
flight  from  the  distant  fields  and  vineyards  towards 
their  forest  home. 


16  raCHELlEU. 

Philip   proceeded,   but  he   sang   no   more ;  ar>. 
opening  the  cottage  door,  he  spoke  without  enter 
ing.    "  Charles,"  demanded  he,  "  has  the  young  gen- 
tleman   returned    v,  ho  passed   by    this   morning  to 
hunt  V 

"  TS'o,  father,"  answered  the  boy,  coming  forward  ; 
'•  nobody  has  passed  since  you  went — 1  am  sure  no 
one  has,  for  I  sat  on  the  old  tree  all  the  morning, 
carving  you  a  sun-dial  out  of  the  willow  branch  you 
brought  home  yesterday  j"  and  he  drew  forth  on«» 
of  those  ingenious  little  machines,  by  means 
which  the  French  shepherds  tell  the  time. 

*'  Thou  art  a  good  boy,"  said  his  father,  laying  his 
hand  on  his  head,  '•  thou  art  a  good  boy."  But  still, 
as  the  woodman  spoke,  his  mind  seemed  occupied 
by  some  anxiety,  for  again  he  looked  up  the  road 
and  listened.  •'  There  are  strange  faces  in  the  for- 
est," said  Philip,  not  exactly  soliloquizing,  for  his 
son  was  present,  but  certainly  speaking  more  to  him- 
self than  to  the  boy.  '•  There  are  strange  faces  in 
the  forest,  and  I  fear  me  some  ill  deed  is  to  be  done. 
But  here  they  come,  thank  God'. — jXol  what  is 
this  ?'• 

As  he  spoke  there  appeared,  just  where  the  road 
turned  into  the  wood,  a  sort  of  procession,  which 
would  have  puzzled  any  one  of  later  days  more  than 
it  did  the  woodman.  It  consisted  of  four  men  on 
horseback,  and  four  on  foot,  escorti.aga  vehicle,  the 
most  elegant  and  tasteful  that  the  age  produced. 
The  people  of  that  day  had  doubtless  very  enlarged 
notions,  and  certainly  the  carriage  1  speak  of  would 
have  contained  any  three  of  modern  construction 
(always  excepting  that  in  which  his  most  gracious 
majesty  the  King  of  England  appears  on  state  occa- 
sions, and  also  that  of  the  Lord-mayor  of  London 
city.) 

Indeed,  the  one  in  question  was  more  lifce  a  state 
carriage  than  any  other;  broad  at  the  top,  low  in 
the  axle,  all  covered  over  with  painting  and  gilding, 
with  long  wooden  shafts  for  the  horses,  and  green 
taffeta  curtains  to  the  windows  :  and  in  this  guiae  it 


RlLHliLIEU.  17 

came  on,  swaying  and  swaggering  about  over  the 
ruts  in  the  road,  not  unlike  the  bloated  Dutcli  pug 
of  some  over-indulgent  dame,  waddling  slowly  on, 
with  Its  legs  far  apart,  and  its  belly  almost  trailing 
on  the  ground. 

When  the  c.irriage  arrived  at  the  abrerivoir.  by 
'le  side  of  which  Philip  had  placed  himself,  iho 
jolmcn  took  the  bridles  from  the  horses' mouths  to 
ive  them  drink,  and  a  small  white  hand  from  vkith- 

■Jrew   back  the  tatf»;ta    curtain,  displaying  to  the 

'^dman  one  of  the  loveliest  laces  he  had  ever  be- 
eld.  The  lady  looked  round  for  a  moment  at  the 
forest  scene,  in  the  midst  of  whose  wild  niggedness 
they  stood,  and  then  riised  h.er  eyes  towartls  the 
sky.  letting  them  n>am  over  the  clear  deepening  ex- 
panse of  blue,  as  if  to  satisfy  herself  how  mucli  day- 
light slill  remiincd  for  tlieir journey. 

•'  How  fir  is  it  to  St.  Germain,  good  friend  ?"'  said 
she.  addressing  the  woodman,  as  she  finished  her 
contemplations  ;  and  her  voice  sounded  to  Philip 
like  the  warble  of  a  bird,  notwithstanding  a  slight 
peculiarity  of  intonation,  which  more  refined  ears 
would  instantly  have  decided  as  the  accent  of 
Roussillon.  or  some  adjacent  province  :  the  length- 
ening of  the  i.  and  the  swelling  roundness  of  the 
Spanish  n.  sounding  very  difierently  from  the  sharp 
precision  peculiar  to  the  Parisian  pronunciation. 

'•  [  wish.  Pauline,  that  you  would  get  over  that 
bad  habit  of  softening  all  your  syllables,'' said  an  old 
ladyulio  sat  beside  her  in  the  carriage.  •' Yenr 
French  is  scarcely  comprehensible.'" 

"Dear  mamma  !"  replied  the  young  lady,  play- 
fully, '-am  not  I  descended  lineally  from  Clemence 
Isaure,  the  patroness  of  song  and  chivalry  ?  And  I 
shoulil  be  sorry  to  speak  aught  but  my  own  laugue 
doc — ihe  tongue  of  the  first  knights  and  first  p*  ets 
of  France^— But  hark  !  what  is  that  noise  in  the 
wood   ? 

••  Now  help,  for  the  love  of  God  '"  cried  the 
woodman,   snatching    forth  his  ase,   and   turning  to 

VOL.  I.  2 


IS  RICHELIEU. 

the  horsemen  who  accompanied  the  carriage  j 
"  murder  is  doing  in  the  forest.  Help,  tor  the  love 
of  God  !  ' 

But  as  he  spoke,  the  trampling  of  a  horse's  feet 
was  heard,  and  in  a  moment  after,  a  stout  black 
charger  came  down  the  road  like  lightning  3  the 
dust  springing  up  under  his  feet,  and  the  foam  drop- 
ping from  his  bit. 

Half  falling  from  the  saddle,  half  supported  by  the 
reins,  appeared  the  form  of  a  gallant  young  cavalier  ; 
his  naked  ssvord  still  clasped  in  his  hand,  but  now 
falling  powerless  and  dragging  by  the  side  of  the 
horse  3  his  head  uncovered  and  thrown  back,  as  if 
consciousness  had  almost  left  him,  and  the  blood 
flowing  from  a  deep  wound  in  his  forehead,  and 
dripping  among  the.  thick  curls  of  his  dark  brown 
hair. 

The  charger  rushed  furiously  on ;  but  the  wood- 
man caught  the  bridle  as  he  passed,  and  with  some 
difficulty  reined  him  in;  while  one  of  the  footmen 
lifted  the  young  gentleman  to  the  ground,  and 
placed  him  at  the  foot  of  a  tree. 

The  two  ladies  had  not  beheld  this  scene  uncon- 
cerned 3  and  were  descending  from  the  carriage, 
when  four  or  five  servants  in  hunting  livery  were 
seen  issuing  from  the  wood  at  the  turn  of  the  road, 
contending  with  a  very  superior  party  of  horsemen, 
whose  rusty  equipments  and  wild  anomalous  sort  of 
apparel  bespoke  them  free  of  the  forest  by  not  tho 
most  honourable  franchise. 

'•■  Ride  on,  ride  on  !''  cried  the  young  lady  to 
those  who  had  conae  with  her  :  "  Ride  on  and  help 
them  3  and  she  herself  advanced  to  give  aid  to  the 
wounded  cavalier,  whose  eyes  seemed  now  closed 
for  ever. 

He  was  as  handsome  a  youth  as  one  might  look 
upon  :  one  of  thore  forms  which  we  are  fond  to  be- 
stow upon  the  knights  and  heroes  tliat  we  read  of 
in  our  early  days,  when  unchecked  fancy  is  always 
ready  to  give  her  bright  conceptions  ''a  local  habi- 
tation and  a  name."'     The  young  lady,  whose -heart 


RICHtLlEU.  19 

had  never  been  taught  to  regulate  its  beatings  by 
the  frigid  rules  of  society,  or  the  shnrp  scourge  of 
disappointment,  now  tooK  the  wounded  man's  head 
upon  her  knee,  and  gazed  tor  an  instant  upon  his 
countenance,  ttie  deadly  paleness  ol  which  a[)pear- 
ed  still  more  ghastly  IVom  the  red  streams  that 
trickled  over  it  from  the  wound  in  his  forehead. 
She  then  attempted  to  stanch  the  blood,  but  the 
trembling  of  her  hands  defeated  her  purpose,  and 
rendered  her  assistance  of  but  little  avail. 

The  elder  lady  had  hitherio  been  giving  her  di- 
rections to  the  footmen,  who  remained  with  the 
carriage,  while  those  on  liorseback  rode  on  towards 
the  fray.  "  Stand  to  your  arms,  Michel  !"'  cried 
she.  "You  take  heed  to  the  coach.  You  three, 
draw  up  across  llie  road,  each  with  his  arquebuse 
ready  to  fire.  Let  none  but  the  true  men  pass. — 
Fy  !  Pauline;  I  thou;>ht  you  had  a  firmer  heart." 
She  continued,  approaching  the  young  lady,  "  Give 
me  tije  handkerchief. — 'I'hnt  is  a  bad  cut  in  his 
head,  truly  ;  but  here  is  a  worse  stab  in  his  side." 
And  she  proceeded  to  unloose  the  gold  loops  of  his 
hunting-coat,  that  she  might  reach  the  wound.  But 
that  action  seemed  to  recall,  in  a  degree,  the  senses 
of  the  wounded  cavalier. 

"JN'ever!  never!"  he  exclaimed,  clasping  his 
hand  upon  his  side,  and  thrusting  her  ting^ers  away 
from  him,  with  no  very  ceremonious  courtesy, — 
"  never,  while  1  have  life.'"' 

"  I  wish  to  do  you  no  harm,  young  sir,  but  good." 
replied  the  old  lady  ; — I  seek  but  to  stop  the  bleed- 
ing of  your  side,  which  is  draining  your  heart  dry." 

The  wounded  man  looked  faintly  round,  his  sen- 
ses still  bewildered,  either  by  weakness  from  loss 
of  blood,  or  from  the  stunning  effects  of  the  blow  on 
his  forehead.  He  seemed,  however,  to  have  <-aught 
and  comprehended  some  of  the  words  whicii  the  old 
lady  aiidresseii  to  him.  asid  answerpd  them  by  a 
Blight  iiiclmaiio!!  of  the  head,  but  still  kept  iiis  hand 
upon  the  breast  of  his  coat,  as  if  he  had  some  cause 
for  wishing  it  not  to  be  opened. 


20  RICHELIEU. 

The  time  which  had  thus  elapsed  more  than  suf- 
ficed  tobriPirthe  horsemen,  who  had  accompanied 
the  carriage  (and  who,  as  before  stated,  liad  ridden 
on  before.)  to  the  spot  where  the  servants  of  the 
cavalier  appeared  contending  with  a  party  not  only 
greater  in  number,  but  superior  in  arms. 

The  reinforcement  which  tlius  arrived  gave  a  de- 
gree of  equality  to  the  two  parties,  through  the  free- 
booters m  .;ht  still  have  retained  the  advantage,  had 
not  one  ul  their  companions  commanded  them,  in 
rather  a  peremptory  manner,  to  quit  the  conflict. 
This  personage,  we  must  remark,  was  very  different, 
in  point  of  costume,  from  the  forest  gentry  with 
whom  he  herded  for  the  time.  His  dress  was  a 
ricli  livery  suit  of  Isabel  and  silver;  and  indeed  he 
might  have  been  confounded  with  the  other  party, 
had  not  his  active  co-operation  with  the  banditti  (or 
whatever  they  might  be)  placed  the  matter  beyond 
a  doubt. 

Their  obedience,  also,  to  his  commands  slewed, 
that  if  he  were  not  the  instigator  of  the  violence  we 
have  described,  at  least  his  influence  over  his  law- 
less companions  was  singularly  powerful  ;  for  at  a 
word  from  him  they  drew  off  from  a  combat  in 
which  they  were  bef'nre  engaged  with  all  the  hungry 
furv  of  wolves  eacrer  for  their  prey  ;  and  retreated 
in  good  order  up  the  road,  till  its  windings  conceal- 
ed them  from  the  view  of  the  servants  to  whom  they 
had  been  opposed. 

These  last  did  not  attempt  to  follow,  but  turning 
their  horses,  together  with  those  who  had  brought 
them  such  timely  aid,  galloped  up  to  the  spot  where 
their  nia^ler  lay.  When  they  arrived,  he  had  aaain 
fallen  into  a  state  of  apparent  insensibility,  and  they 
all  flocked  rovnid  him  with  looks  of  eager  anxiety, 
which  .«eemed  to  speak  more  heartfelt  interest  than 
generallv  existed  between  the  murmuring  vassal 
and  hi.-;  feudal  lord. 

One  ?i>riLrh'lv  bov,  who  appeared  to  be  his  page, 
sprang  like  liglitning  from  the  j^addle.  and  kneeling 
by  his  side,  gazed  intently  on  his  face,  aa  if  to  seek 


RICHELILU.  21 

some  trace  of  animation.  "They  have  killed  him  !" 
he  cried  at  length,  "  I  fear  me  they  have  killed 
him  !" 

"  JNo,  he  is  not  dead,"' answered  the  old  lady; 
''but  I  wish,  Sir  Page,  that  you  would  prevnil  on 
your  master  to  open  his  coat,  that  we  may  stanch 
that  deep  wound  in  his  side." 

"  J^o,  ho!  that  must  not  be,"  cried  the  boy, 
quickly  ;  "  but  I  will  tie  my  scarf  round  the  wound." 
So  saying,  he  unloosed  the  rich  scarf  of  blue  and 
gold,  lliat  passing  over  his  right  shoulder  Qrossed 
his  bosom  till  it  nearly  reached  the  hilt  of  his 
sword,  where,  forming  a  large  knot,  it  covered  the 
bucklings  of  his  belt.  This  he  bound  tightly  over 
the  spot  in  his  master's  side  from  whence  the  blood 
flowed  ;  aud  then  asked  thoughfuUy,  without  raising 
his  eyes,  "  But  how  shall  we  carry  him  to  St.  Ger- 
main V 

"  In  our  carriage,"  said  the  young  lady ;  "  we  are 
on  our  way  thither,  even  now." 

The  sound  of  her  voice  made  the  pnge  start,  for 
since  his  arrival  on  the  spot,  he  had  scarcely  noticed 
any  one  but  his  master,  whose  dangerous  situation 
seemed  to  occupy  all  his  thoughts:  but  now  there 
was  something  in  that  sweet  voice,  with  its  soft 
Languedocian  accent,  which  awakened  other  ideas, 
and  he  turned  his  full  sunny  face  towards  the  lady 
who  spoke. 

"  Good  heavens  !"  exclaimed  she,  as  that  glance 
showed  her  a  countenance  not  at  all  unfamiliar  to 
her  memory  :  "  Is  not  this  Henry  de  La  Motlie,son 
of  our  old  farmer  Louis  ?" 

"JNo  other  indeed,  Mademoiselle  Pauline,"  re- 
plied the  boy  ;  ''•  though,  truly,  1  neither  hoped  nor 
expected  to  see  you  at  such  a  moment  as  this." 

"  Then  who" — demanded  the  young  lady,  clu.^ping 
her  hands  with  a  look  of  impatient  anxiety — "  in  the 
name  of  Heaven,  tell  me  who  is  this!' 

For  an  instant,  and  but  for  an  instant,  a  look  of 
arch  meaning  played  over  the  boy's  countenance  ; 
but  it  was  like  a  flash  of  lightning  on  a  dark  cloud, 


22  .    RICHELIEU. 

lost  as  quickly  as  it  appeared,  leaving  a  deep  gloom 
behind  it.  as  his  eye  fell  upon  the  inanimate  form 
of  his  master.  "  That,  madam,"  said  he,  while 
something  i^lisfened  bri2:htiv.  but  sadly,  in  his  eye, 
•'  that  is  Claude  Count  de  Blenau.  " 

Pauline  spoke  nut,  but  there  was  a  deadly  pale- 
ness come  upon  her  face,  which  very  plainly  show- 
ed how  secnndary  a  feeling  is  general  benevolence, 
compared  with  personal  interest. 

'•■  Is  it  possible  I'  exclaimed  the  elder  lady,  her 
brow  darkening  thoughtfully.  "  Well,  something 
must  be  done  for  liim.'' 

The  pnge  did  not  seem  p;irticularly  well  pleased 
with  the  tone  in  which  the  ladv  spoke. and.  in  truth, 
it  had  betr.ayed  more  pride  than  compassion. 

'•  The  best  thing  that  can  be  done  for  him, 
Madame  la  Marquise.'"  answered  he.  "  is  to  put  him 
in  the  carriage  and  convey  him  to  St.  Germain  as 
soon  as  possible,  if  you  should  not  consider  it  too 
mucli  trouble.' 

"  Trouble  l"'  e.Tclainied  Pauline  ;  '•  trouble  !  Henry 
de  La  Mothe.  do  you  think  that  my  moth.er  or  my- 
self would  find  any  thing  a  trou!)le  tljat  could  serve 
Cloude  de  Blenau,  in  such  a  situation  1" 

"  Hush,  Pauline  I'"  said  her  mother.  "  Of  course 
we  shall  be  glad  to  serve  the  count — Henry,  help 
Michel  and  Regnard  to  place  your  master  in  the  car- 
riage.— Michel  give  me  your  arquebuse  ;  I  will  hold 
it  till  you  have  done. — Henry,  support  your  master's 
head."' 

But  Pauline  took  Ihat  post  upon  herself,  notwith- 
standing a  look  from  the  marchioness,  if  not  intend- 
ed to  forbid,  at  least  to  disapprove.  The  young  lady, 
however,  was  too  much  agaitated  with  ail  that  had 
occurred  to  remark  her  mother's  looks,  and  follow- 
ing the  first  impulse  of  her  feelings,  while  the  ser- 
vants carried  him  slowly  to  the  carriage,  she  sup- 
ported the  head  of  the  wounded  cavalier  on  ht^r 
arm,  though  the  blood  continued  to  flow  from  the 
wound  in  his  forehead,  and  dripped  amid  the  rich 


RICHELIEU.  2S 

elashiag  of  her  Spanish  sleeves,  dabbling  the  satin 
with  which  it  was  lined. 

"Oh  mndemniselle !"  said  the  page,  when  their 
task  was  accomplished,  "this  has  been  a  sad  day's 
hunting.  But  if  I  might  advise,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  the  marcliioness,  "  the  drivers  must  be 
told  to  go  with  ail  speed." 

"  Saucy  as  a  page!"  said  the  old  lady,  "is  a 
proverb,  and  a  good  one.  Now,  Monsieur  La 
Mothe,  1  do  not  think  the  drivers  must  go  with  all 
speed  ;  for  humbly  deferring  to  your  better  opinion, 
it  would  shake  your  master  to  death." 

The  page  bit  his  lip,  and  his  cheek  grew  some- 
what red,  in  answer  to  the  high  dame's  rebuke,  but 
he  replied  calmly,  "You  have  seen,  madam,  what 
has  happened  to-day,  and  depend  on  it,  if  we  be 
not  speedy  in  getting  out  of  this  accursed  forest,  we 
shall  have  the  same  good  gentry  upon  us  again,  and 
perhaps  in  greater  numbers.  Though  they  have 
wounded  the  count,  they  have  not  succeeded  in  their 
object ;  for  he  has  siillabout  him  that  which  they 
would  hazard  all  to  gain." 

"  You  are  in  the  riuht,  boy,"  answered  the  lady  j 
"  I  was  over-hasty.  Go  in,  Pauline.  Henry,  your 
master's  horse  must  carry  one  of  my  footmen,  of 
whom  the  other  three  can  mount  behind  the  car- 
riage— thus  we  shall  go  quicker.  You,  with  the 
count's  servants,  mix  with  my  horsemen,  and  keep 
close  round  the  coach  ;  and  now  bid  them  on,  witn 
all  speed."  Thus  saying,  she  entered  the  vehicle; 
and  the  rest  having  disposed  themselves  according 
to  her  orders,  the  whole  cavalcade  was  soon  in  mo- 
tion on  the  road  to  St.  Germain. 


24  RICHELIEU. 


CHAPTER  II.- 

In  which  new  characters  are  hrotighl  upon  the  stage,  and  some 
dark  hints  given  re«|)ectiiig  llienu 

The  sun  had  long  gone  down,  and  the  large  clear 
autumn  moon  Jiad  risen  high  in  his  stead,  throwing 
a  paler  but  a  gentler  light  upon  the  wood  of  Laye, 
and  the  rich  wild  forest  scenery  bordering  the  road 
from  Si.  Germain  to  Mantes  The  light,  unable  to 
pierce  the  deeper  recesses  of  the  wood,  fell  princi- 
pally upon  those  old  and  majestic  trees,  the  aristo- 
cracy of  the  forest,  which,  raising  their  heads  high 
above  their  brethren  of  more  recent  growth,  seemed 
to  look  upon  the  beam  in  which  they  shone  as  the 
right  of  elder  birth,  and  due  alnne  to  their  aspiring 
height.  The  deep  shadows  of  their  branches  tell  in 
long  sombre  shapes  across  the  inequalities  of  the 
road,  leaving  but  glimpses  every  now  and  then  to 
light  the  footsteps  of  whatever  being  might  wander 
there  at  that  hour  of  silence. 

On  one  of  those  spots  where  the  full  beams  fell, 
stood  the  cottace  of  Philip  the  woodman  :  and  the 
humble  hut  with  its  straw  thatch,  the  open  space  of 
ground  before  it,  with  a  felled  oak  which  had  lain 
there  undisturbed  till  a  coat  of  soft  ureen  moss  had 
grown  thick  over  its  rugged  bark,  the  little  stream 
dammed  up  to  afford  a  sufficient  supplv  of  water  for 
the  horses,  and  the  larae  square  block  of  stone  to  aid 
the  traveller  in  mounting,  all  were  displayed  in  the 
clear  moonliirht  as  plainly  as  if  the  full  day  had 
shone  upon  them. 

Yet.  however  fair  mijht  be  the  night,  there  were 
very  few  wiio  would  have  chosen  tlie  beams  of  the 
ini>on  to  light  ihcm  across  the  wood  of  Mantes,  la 
sooth,  in  those  days,  sunshine  was  the  best  safeguard 
to  travellers.  For  France  swarmed  with  those  who 
gathered  jo  their  harvest  at  night,  and  who  (to  use 


RICHELIEU.  26 

their  own  phrase)  had  turned  their  swords  into  reap- 
ing-hooks. 

'Two  grand  objects  fully  occupied  the  mind  of 
that  famous  minister  the  (-arduial  de  Riciielieu 
(who  llien  governed  tlie  kingdom  witli  almost  des- 
potic sway  :)  the  prosecution  of  those  mighty 
schemes  of  foreign  policy,  which  at  the  lime  shook 
many  a  ihrone,  and  in  after-years  changed  more 
than' one  dynasty  :  and  the  establishment  of  his  own 
power  at  home,  which,  threatened  by  factions  and 
attacked  by  continual  conspiracies,  was  supported 
alone  by  the  terror  of  his  name,  and  the  favour  of  a 
weak  and  irresolute  monarch.  These  more  im- 
mediate calls  upon  his  attention  gave  him  but  little 
time  to  regulate  the  long-neglected  police  of  the 
country;  and  indeed  it  was  whispered  that  Riche- 
lieu not  only  neglected,  but  knowingly  tolerated 
many  of  the  excesses  of  the  times:  the  perpetrators 
of  which  were  often  called  upon  to  do  some  of 
those  good  services  which  statesmen  occasionally 
require  of  their  less  circumspect  servants,  it  was 
said  too  that  scarce  a  forest  in  France  but  sheltered 
a  band  of  these  free  rovers,  who  held  themselves  in 
readiness  to  merit  pardon  for  their  other  offences, 
by  offending  in  the  slate's  behalf  whenever  it 
should  be  demanded,  and  in  the  mean  time  took 
very  sufficient  care  to  do  those  things  on  their  own 
account  for  which  they  might  be  pardoned  here- 
after. 

We  may  suppose  then  it  rarely  happened  that 
travellers  chose  that  hour  for  passing  through  the 
wood  of  Mantes,  and  that  those  who  did  so  were 
seldom  of  the  best  description.  But  on  the  night  I 
speak  of  two  horsemen  wound  slowly  along  the 
road  towards  the  cottage  of  the  woodman,  with  a 
sort  of  sountering.  idle  pace,  as  if  thoughtless  of 
danger,  and  entirely  occupied  in  their  own  conver- 
sation. 

They  were  totally  unattended  also,  although  their 
dress  bespoke  a  high  station  in  society,  and  by  its 
richness  might  have  tempted  a  robber  to  inquire 


2t5  RICHELIEU. 

farther  into  their  circumstances.  But  were  well 
armed  with  pistol,  sword,  and  dagf^er,  and  appeared 
as  stout  cavaliers  as  ever  mounted  horse,  having 
withal  that  air  of  easy  confidence,  which  is  gene- 
rally the  result  of  long  familiarity  with  urgent  and 
perilous  circumstances. 

Hiving  come  near  the  abreuvoir,  one  of  the  two 
gave  his  horse  to  drink  without  dismounting,  while 
the  other  alighted,  and  taking  out  the  bit.  let  his 
beast  satisfy  its  thirst  at  liberty.  As  he  did  so  his 
eye  naturally  glanced  over  the  ground  at  the  foot 
of  the  tree.  Something  caught  his  attention;  and 
stoopinsf  down  to  examine  more  closely.  "  Here  is 
blood,  Chavigni  !"  he  exclaimed  ;  '•  surely  they  have 
never  been  stupid  enough  to  do  it  here,  within  sight 
of  this  cottnge." 

"  1  hope  they  have  not  done  it  at  all,  Lafemas,'' 
replied  the  other.  "  I  only  told  them  to  tie  him, 
and  search  him  thoroughly  ;  but  not  to  give  him  a 
scratch,  if  they  could  avoid  it." 

•'  Methinks  thou  hast  grovvn  miehty  ceremonious 
of  late,  and  somewhat  merciful.  Master  Chavigni," 
replied  his  companion ;  "  i  remember  the  time 
when  you  were  not  so  scrupulous.  Would  it  not 
have  been  the  wiser  way  to  have  quieted  this  young 
plotter  at  once,  when  your  men  had  him  in  their 
hands  V 

••Thou  wert  born  in  the  Fauxbourg  St.  Antoine, 
I  would  swear,  and  served  apprenticeship  to  a 
butcher."  replied  Chavigni.  "  Why.  thou  art  as 
fond  of  blood,  Lafemas,  as  if  thou  hadst  sucked  it 
in  thy  cradle!  Tell  me,  when  thou  wert  an  infant 
Hercules,  didst  thou  not  stick  sheep  instead  of 
strangling  serpents  V 

"  Not  more  than  yourself,  lying  villain  !"  answer- 
ed the  other,  in  a'  quick  deep  voice,  making  his 
hand  sound  upon  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  "Chavigni, 
you  have  taunted  me  all  along  the  road;  you  have 
cast  in  mv  teeth  things  that  you  yourself  caused  me 
to  do.  Beware  of  yourself!  Urce  me  not  too  far 
lest  you  leave  your  bon«a  in  the  forest  I" 


ICKELIEU.  27 

"  Pshaw,  man  !  pshaw  ["  cried  Chavi^ni^  laugh- 
ing :  ''Here's  a  cool-headed  judge!  Here's  the 
calm  placid  Lafemas  I  Here's  the  cardinal's  gentle 
haugmnn.  who  can  cont^emn  his  denrest  friends  to 
the  torture  with  the  same  meek  look  that  he  puts 
on  to  say  grace  over  a  beccatico.  suddenly  meta- 
morphosed into  a  bully  and  a  bravo  in  the  wood  of 
Mantes.  But,  hark  ye,  Sir  Judge  !"  he  added,  in  a 
pr.;uder  tone,  tossing  back  the  plumes  of  his  hat, 
which  before  hung  partly  over  his  face,  and  fixing 
his  full  dark  eye  upon  his  companion,  who  still 
stood  scowling  upon  him  with  ill-repressed  passion 
— "  Hark  ye,  Sir  Judge  !  Use  no  such  language  to- 
wards me,  if  you  seek  not  to  try  that  same  :rhnrp 
axe  you  have  so  often  ordered  for  others.  Suffice 
it  for  you  to  know,  in  the  present  instance,  that  it 
was  not  the  cardinal's  wish  that  the  young  man 
should  be  injured.  We  do  not  desire  blood,  but 
when  the  necessity  of  the  state  requires  it  to  be 
shed.  Besides,  man,"  and  he  gradually  fell  into  his 
former  jeering  tone — "  besides,  in  future,  under  your 
gentle  guidance,  and  a  touch  or  two  of  the  peine 
forte  etdtirc,  this  young  nightingale  may  be  taught 
to  sing,  and  in  short  be  forced  to  tell  us  all  he 
knows.     I\ow  do  you  understand  V 

"  I  do,  ]  do,"  replied  Lafemas.  "  I  thought  that 
there  was  some  deep,  damnable  while  that  made 
you  spare  him;  and  as  to  the  rest  I  did  not  mean  to 
ofl'end  you.  But  when  a  man  condemns  his  own 
soul  to  serve  you,  you  should  not  taunt  him,  for  it  is 
hard  to  bear." 

"Peace!  peace!"  cried  Chavigni,  in  a  sharp 
tone  ;  "  let  me  hear  no  more  in  this  strain.  VVlio 
raised  you  to  what  you  are  ?  We  use  you  as  vou 
deserve  ;  we  pay  you  for  your  services  ;  we  despise 
you  for  ynur  meanness  ;  and  as  to  vour  soul,"  he 
added  with  a  sneer,  "  if  you  have  any  fears  on  that 
head — why  you  shall  have  absolution.  Are  you  not 
our  dog,  who  worries  the  game  for  us  ?  We  house 
and  feed  you,  and  you  must  take  the  lashes  when  it 
suits  ua  to  give  them.    Remember,  sir,  that  your  life 


28  RICHELIEU. 

is  in  my  hand  !  One  word  respecting  the  affair  of 
Chalais  mentioned  to  the  cardinal,  brings  your  head 
to  the  block  !  And  now  let  us  see  what  is  this  blood 
you  speak  of?"" 

So  saying  he  sprang  from  his  horse,  while  Lafe- 
mas,  as  he  had  been  depicted  by  his  companion, 
hung  his  head  like  a  cowed  hound,  and  in  sullen 
silence  pointed  out  the  blood,  which  had  formed  a 
little  pool  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  stained  the 
ground  in  several  places  round  about. 

Chavigni  gazed  at  it  with  evident  symptoms  of 
displeasure  and  uneasiness;  for  although,  when  he 
imagined  that  the  necessities  of  the  sUte  required 
the  severest  infliction  on  any  offender,  no  one  was 
more  ruthless  than  himself  as  to  the  punishment.no 
one  more  unhesitating  as  to  the  means — although, 
at  those  times,  no  bond  of  amity,  no  tie  of  kindred, 
would  have  stayed  his  hand,  or  restrained  him  in 
what  he  erroneously  considered  his  political  duty ; 
yet  Chavigni  was  far  from  naturally  cruel  ;  and  as 
his  after-life  showed,  even  too  susceptible  of  the 
strongest  and  deepest  affections  of  human  nature. 

In  his  early  youth  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu  had 
remarked  in  him  a  strong  and  penetrating  mind  ;  but 
above  all.  an  extraordinary  power  of  governing  and 
even  subdumg  the  ardent  passions  by  which  he  was 
at  times  excited.  .As  son  to  the  Count  de  Bouthil- 
liers,  one  of  the  oldest  members  of  the  privy  coun- 
cil, the  road  to  political  preferment  was  open  to 
Chavigni-,  and  Richelieu,  even  fearful  of  aught  that 
might  diminish  his  power,  and  careful  to  strengthen 
it  by  every  means,  resolved  to  bind  the  young  count 
to  his  cause  by  the  sure  ties  of  early  habits  and 
mutual  interest.  With  this  view  he  took  him  en- 
tirely under  his  own  protection,  educated  him  in 
his  own  line  of  policy,  instilled  into  him.  as  princi- 
ples, the  deep  stern  maxims  of  his  own  mighty  and 
unshrinking  mind,  ^nd  having  thus  moulded  him  to 
his  wish,  called  him  e.irly  to  the  council-table,  and 
intrusted  him  with  a  greater  share  of  his  power  and 


RICHELIEU.  29 

confidence  than  he  would  have  yielded  to  any  other 

man. 

Chaviffni  repaid  the  cardinal  with  heartfelt  grati- 
tude, with  firm  adherence  and  uncompromising  ser- 
vice. In  private  life  lie  was  honourable,  generous, 
and  kind  ;  but  it  was  his  axiom  that  all  must  yield  to 
state  necessity,  or  (as  he  said)  in  other  words,  to  the 
good  of  his  country  ;  and  upon  the  strength  of  this 
maxim,  which  in  fact  was  the  cause  of  every  stain 
that  rests  upon  his  memory,  he  fancied  himself  a 
patriot  I 

Between  Chavigni  and  the  Judge  Lafemas,  who 
was  the  Jeffreys  of  his  country,  and  had  received 
the  name  of  Le  Bourrcau  du  Cardinal,  existed  a  sort 
of  original  antipathy  ;  so  that  the  statesman,  though 
often  obliged  to  make  usu  of  the  less  scrupulous 
talents  of  the  judge,  and  even  occasionally  to  asso- 
ciate with  him,  could  never  refrain  for  any  length 
of  time  from  breaking  forth  into  those  bitter  taunts 
which  often  irritated  Lafemas  almost  to  phrensy. 
The  hated  of  the  judge,  on  his  part,  was  less  strong, 
even  at  the  times  it  did  not  show  itself,  and  he  still 
brooded  over  the  hope  of  exercising  his  ungentle 
functions  upon  him  who  was  at  present,  in  a  degree, 
his  master. 

But  to  return,  Chavigni  gazed  intently  on  the  spot 
to  which  Lafemas  pointed.  "  I  believe  it  is  blood, 
indeed,"  said  he,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  as  if 
the  uncertainty  of  the  light  had  mnde  him  doubt  it 
at  first :  "  they  shall  rue  the  day  that  they  shed  it 
contrary  to  my  command.  It  is  blood  surely,  Lafe- 
mas :  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Without  a  doubt.''  said  Lafemas  ;  "  and  it  has 
been  shed  since   mid-day.'' 

"  You  are  critical  in  these  things,  I  know."  re- 
plied the  other,  witlr  a  cool  sneer  5  "but  we  must 
hear  mnre  of  this,  Sir  Jud<rr!.  and  ascertain  what 
news  is  stirring,  before  we  go  farther.  Things  might 
chance,  which  would  render  it  necessarv  that  one 
or  b.ith  of  us  should  return  to  the  cardinal.  We 
will  knock  at  this  cottage  and  in(;iaire. — Our  story 


go  RICHELILU. 

must  run,  that  we  have  lost  our  way  in  the  wood, 
and  need  both  rest  and  direction.  ' 

So  saying,  he  struck  several  sharp  blows  with 
the  hilt  of  his  sword  against  the  door,  wliose  rick- 
ety and  unsonorciU3  nature  returned  a  grumbling 
indistinct  sound,  as  if  it  too  had  shared  the  sleep 
oitlie  peacelui  inhabitants  of  the  cottage,  and  lov- 
ed not  to  be  disturbed  by  such  nocturnal  visita- 
tions. -'So  ho!'  cried  Chavigni  ;  "will  no  one 
hear  us  poor  travellers,  who  have  lost  our  way  ia 
this   lorest !" 

In  a  moment  after,  the  head  of  Philip,  the  wood- 
man appeared  at  the  little  casement  by  the  side  of 
the  door,  examining  the  strangers,  on  whose  figures 
fell  the  full  beams  of  the  moon,  with  quite  suffi- 
cient light  to  dis|)lay  the  courtly  form  and  garnish- 
ing their  apparel,  and  to  siiow  that  they  were  no 
dangerous  guesis.  ••  What  would  ye,  messieurs  V 
demanded  he,  through  the  open  window  :  •■  it  is 
late  for  travellers." 

"  We  have  lost  our  way  in  your  wood,"  replied 
Chavigni,  "and  would  fain  have  a  little  rest,  and 
some  direction  for  our  farther  progress.  We  will 
pay  thee  well,  good  man.  for  thy  hospitality.'" 

•■  There  is  no  need  of  payment,  sir,''  said  the 
woodman,  opening  the  door.  "  Come  in,  I  pray, 
messieurs. — Charles  I''  he  added,  calling  to  his  son, 
"  get  up  and  tend  these  gentlemen's  horses.  Get 
up,  I  say,  Sir  Sluggard  !" 

The  boy  crept  sleepily  out  of  the  room  beyond, 
and  went  to  give  some  of  the  forest  hay  to  the 
beasts  which  had  borne  the  strangers  thither,  and 
which  gave  but  little  si^nis  of  needing  either  rest 
or  refreshment.  In  the  mean  while,  his  father  drew 
two  large  yew-tree  seats  to  the  fireside,  soon  blew 
the  whue  ashes  on  the  heartii  into  a  Hame,anil  hav- 
ing invited  his  guests  to  sit,  and  lighted  the  old 
brazen  lamp  that  hung  above  the  chimney,  he  bow- 
ed low,  asking  how  he  could  serve  them  farllier5 
but  as  he  did  so,  his  eye  ran  over  their  persons  with 
a    half-satisfied  and  inquiring  glance,  which  made 


niCHELIEU.  $1 

Lafemaa  turn  away  his  head.  But  Chavigni  an- 
swered promptly  to  his  offer  of  service  :  '•  Why 
now,  good  irieiid,  if  thou  couldst  give  us  a  jug  of 
wine,  tuould  be  well  .and  kindly  done,  for  we  have 
ridden  far." 

'•'I'hisisno  inn  sir,"  replied  Philip,  "and  you 
will  find  my  wine  but  thin  ;  nevertheless,  such  as  it 
is,  most  welcnmely  shall  you  taste." 

From  whatever  motive  it  proceeded,  Philip's  hos- 
pitality was  but  lukewarm  towards  the  strangers  j 
and  the  manner  in  v\hich  he  rinsed  out  the  tankard, 
drew  the  wine  from  a  bamque  standing  in  one  cor- 
ner oi"  the  room,  1  alf  covered  with  a  wolf-skin,  and 
placed  it  on  a  table  by  the  side  of  Chavigni,  bespoke 
more  churlish  rudeness  than  good-will.  But  the 
Blalesman  heeded  little  either  the  quality  of  his 
reception  or  of  his  wine,  provided  he  could  obtain 
the  information  he  desired  5  so,  carrying  the  tankard 
to  his  lips^  he  drank,  or  seemed  to  drink,  as  deep  a 
draught  as  if  its  contents  had  been  the  produce  of 
the  best  vineyard  in  Medoc.  "It  is  excellent/' 
said  he,  handing  it  to  Lalemas,  "or  my  thirst  does 
wonders.  Kow,  good  friend,  if  we  had  some  veni- 
Bon-steaks  to  broil  on  your  clear  ashes,  our  supper 
were  complete."' 

"  Such  1  have  not  to  offer,  sir,"  replied  Philip, 
"  or  to  that  you  should  be  welcome  too." 

"  Why,  1  should  have  thought,"  said  Chavigni, 
"  the  hunters  who  ran  down  a  stag  at  your  door  to- 
day, should  have  left  you  a  part,  as  the  woodman's 
fee." 

"  Do  you  know  those  hunters,  sir  1"  demanded 
Philip,  with  some  degree  of  emphasis. 

"Not  J,  in  truth,'  replied  Chavigini  j  though  the 
colour  rose  in  his  cheek,  notwithstanding  his  long 
training  to  courtly  wile  and  political  intrigue,  and 
he  thanked  his  stars  that  the  lamp  gave  but  a  faint 
and  glimmering  light :  "  Not  1,  in  truth  ;  but  who- 
ever ran  him  down  got  a  good  beast,  for  he  bled 
like  a  stag  of  ten.  I  suppose  they  made  the  eurec 
m  ycur  GC( r ?" 


32  UlCflELIEU. 

"Those  hunters,  sir,"  replied  Philip,  "give  no 
woodman's  fees  ;  and  as  to  the  stag,  he  is  as  fine  a 
one  as  ever  brushed  the  forest  dew,  but  he  has 
escaped  them  tliis  time.'' 

'•  How  !  did  he  get  olT  with  his  throat  cut?''  de- 
manded Chavi^iii,  ••  for  there  is  blood  enough  at  the 
foot  of  yon  old  tree  lo  have  drained  the  stoutest  stag 
that  ever  was  brought  to  bay." 

"  Oh  !  but  that  is  not  stag's  blood  !"  interrupted 
Charles,  the  woodman's  son.  who  had  by  this  time 
not  only  tended  the  stringers'  horses,  but  examined 
every  point  of  the  quaint  furniture  with  which  it 
was  the  fashion  of  the  day  to  adorn  them.  "  That 
is  not  stag's  blood;  that  is  the  blood  of  the  young 
cavalier,  who  was  hurt  by  the  robbers,  and  taken 
away  by — " 

At  this  moment  the  boy's  eye  caught  the  impa- 
tient expression  of  his  fathers  countenance. 

•'The  trulh  is.  messieurs,"  said  Piiilip,  taking  up 
the  discourse,  "'  t'.iere  was  a  gentleman  wounded  in 
the  forest  this  mo:ning.  I  never  saw  him  bsfi^re, 
and  he  was  taken  away  in  a  carriage  by  some  ladies, 
whose  faces  were  equilly  strange  to  me.  ' 

'•  You  have  boen  somewhat  mvsterious  upon  this 
business,  Sir  Woodmin,"  said  Chavigni,  his  br»n 
darkening  as  he  spoke  ;  "  why  were  you  so  tariiy  in 
giving  us  this  forest  news,  which  imports  all  stran- 
gers travelling  through  the  wood  to  know  .'' 

'■  1  hold  it  as  a  rule,"  replied  Philip,  boldly,  '•  to 
mind  my  own  business,  and  never  to  mention  any 
thing  1  see  ;  which  in  this  afTiir  1  shall  do  more  es- 
pecially, as  one  of  the  robbers  had  fur.iiture  of  Isa- 
bel ar.d  silver;''  anti  as  he  spoke  he  glanced  his  eye 
to  the  scarf  of  ("luvigni.  which  was  of  that  peculiar 
mixture  of  colours  then  called  Isabel,  bordered  by  a 
rich  silver  frinje. 

"Fool!"  muttered  Chavigni  between  his  teeth; 
'•'Fool!   what  need  had  he  to  show  himself  T' 

Lafemis.  who  had  hitherto  beerl  silent,  now  came 
to  the  relief  of  iiis  companion;  taking  up  the  con- 
versation in  a  mild  and  easy  tone,  '•  Have  you  many 


RICHELIKU.  8t 

of  these  robbing  fraternity  in  your  wood  ?"  said  he  ; 
"  if  so,  I  suppose  we  peril  ourst.'lves  in  crossing  it 
alone."  And,  without  waiting  for  any  answer,  ho 
proceeded,  "  Pray,  who  y^as  the  cavalier  they  at- 
tacked ?" 

"  He  was  a  stranger  from  St.  Germain,"  answered 
the  woodman  ;  "  and  as  to  the  robbers,  I  doubt  that 
they  will  show  themselves  again,  for  fear  of  being 
taken." 

"  They  did  not  rob  him  then  V  said  the  judge. 
Now  nothing  that  Philip  had  said  bore  out  this  in- 
ference ;  but  Lafemas  possessed  in  a  high  degree 
the  talent  of  cross-examination,  and  was  deeply 
versed  in  all  the  thousand  arts  of  entangling  a  wit- 
ness, or  leading  a  prisoner  to  condemn  himself.  But 
there  was  a  stern'reserve  about  the  woodman  which 
baffled  the  judge's  cunning  :  "  I  only  saw  the  last 
part  of  the  fray,"  replied  Philip,  "  and  therefore 
know  not  what  went  before." 

"  Where  was  he  hurtl"  asked  Lafemas  5  "for  he 
lost  much  blood." 

"  On  the  head  and  in  the  side,"  answered  the 
woodman. 

"  Poor  youth  !"  cried  the  judge,  in  a  pitiful  tone. 
''  And  when  you  opened  his  coat,  was  the  wound  a 
deep  one  1" 

"  I  cannot  judge,"  replied  Philip,  "being  no  sur- 
geon.'" 

It  was  in  vain  that  Lafemas  tried  all  his  wiles  on 
the  woodman,  and  that  Chavigni,  who  soon  joined 
in  the  conversation,  questioned  him  more  boldly. 
Philip  was  in  no  communicative  mood,  and  yielded 
them  but  little  information  respecting  the  event*  of 
the  morning. 

At  length,  weary  of  this  fruitless  interrogation, 
Chavigni  started  up—"  Well,  friend  !"  said  he,  ''had 
there  been  danger  in  crossing  the  forest,  we  might 
have  staid  with  thee  till  daybreak  ;  but  as  thou 
sayest  there  is  none,  we  will  hence  upon  our  way." 
So  saying  he  strode  towards  the  door,  the  flauie- 
VOL.  I.  3  . 


t4  RICHELIEU. 

shaped  mullets  of  his  gilded  spurs  jingling  over  the 
brick  floor  of  Philip's  dwelling,  and  calling  the 
woodmans  attention  to  the  knightly  rank  of  his  de- 
parting guest.  In  a  few  minutes  all  was  prepared 
for  their  departure,  and  having  mounted  their 
horses,  the  statesman  drew  forth  a  small  silk  purse 
tied  with  a  loop  of  gold,  and  holding  it  forth  to 
Philip,  bade  him  accept  it  for  his  services.  The 
woodman  bowed,  repeating  that  he  required  no  pay- 
ment. 
.^  "  I  am  not  accustomed  to  have  my  bounty  refus- 
ed," said  Chavigni,  proudly  ;  and  dropping  the  purse 
to  the  ground,  he  spurred  forward  his  horse. 

"  Now,  Lafemas."  said  he,  when  the  had  proceed- 
ed so  far  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  Philip's  ears, 
"  what  think  you  of  this  ?' 

*'  Why,  truly,-'  replied  the  judge,  "  I  deem  that  we 
are  mighty  near  as  wise  as  we  were  before.'' 

"Not  so,"  said  Chavigni.  "It  is  clear  enough 
these  follows  have  failed,  and  De  Blenau  has  pre- 
served the  packet  :  I  understand  it  all.  His  .'emi- 
nence of  Richelieu,  against  my  advice,  has  permit- 
ted Madame  de  Beaumont  and  her  daughter  Pauline 
to  return  to  the  queen,  after  an  absence  of  ten  \  ears. 
The  fact  is,  that  when  the  cardinal  banished  them 
the  court,  and  ordered  the  marchioness  to  retire  to 
Languedoc,  his  views  were  not  so  extended  as  they 
are  now,  and  he  had  laid  out  in  his  own  mind  a 
match  between  one  of  his  nieces  and  this  rich  young 
Count  de  Blenau;  which,  out  of  the  royal  family, 
was  one  of  the  best  alliances  in  France.  The  boy, 
however,  had  been  promised,  and  even,  f  believe, 
affianced  by  his  father,  to  this  Pauline  de  Beaumont  : 
and  accordingly  his  eminence  sent  away  the  girl 
and  her  mother,  with  the  same  sangfroid  that  a 
man  drives  a  strange  dog  out  of  his  court-yard  ;  at 
the  same  time  he  kept  the  youth  at  conn,  forbidding 
all  communication  with  LnnL'uedoc  :  but  now  that 
the  cardinal  can  mritch  his  niece  to  the  Duke  D'- 
Enghien,  De  Blenau  may  look  for  a  bride  where  he 
lists,  and  ihe  marquise  and  her  daughter  have  -.en 


RICHELIEU.  35 

suffered  to  return.  To  my  knowledge,  they  passed 
through  Chartres  yesterday  morning  on  their  way  to 
St.  Germain.' 

"  But  what  have  these  to  do  with  the  present  af- 
fair,"' demanded  Lafemas. 

"  Why  thus  has  it  happened,"  continued  Chavigni. 
"The  youth  has  been  attacked.  He  has  resisted, 
and  been  wounded.  Just  then,  up  come  these  wo- 
men, travelling  through  the  forest  with  a  troop  of 
servants,  who  join  with  the  count,  and  drive  our  poor 
friends  to  covor.  This  is  what  I  have  drawn  from 
the  discourse  of  yon  surly  woodman." 

"  You  mean,  from  your  own  knowledge  of  the 
business,''  replied  Lafemas,  "for  he  would  confess 
nothing." 

"  Confess,  man  '."  exclaimed  Chavigni.  "  Why  he 
did  not  know  that  he  was  before  a  confessor,  and 
still  less  before  a  judge,  though  thou  wouldst  fain 
have  put  him  to  the  question.  I  saw  your  lip 
quivering  with  anxiety  to  order  him  the  torture  j 
rack,  and  thumb-screw,  and  oubliette  were  in  your 
eye,  every  sullen  answer  he  gave." 

'*  Were  it  not  as  well  to  get  him  out  of  the  w.iy  ?" 
demanded  Lafemas.  "  He  remarked  your  livery, 
Chavigni,  and  may  blab." 

''  Short-sighted  mole  '."  replied  his  companion. 
*' The  very  sulkiness  of  humour  which  has  called 
down  on  him  thy  rage,  will  shield  him  from  my 
fears — which  might  Be  quite  as  dangerous.  He  that 
is  so  close  in  one  thing,  depend  upon  it,  will  be  close 
in  another.  Besides,  unless  he  tells  it  to  the  trees, 
or  the  jays,  or  the  wild  boars,  whom  should  he  tell 
it  to?  I  would  bet  a  thousand  crowns  against  the 
Prince  de  (Monti's  brains,  or  the  Archbishop  Coad- 
jutor's religion,  or  Madame  de  (Jhevreuse's — reputa- 
tion, or  against  any  thing  else  that  is  worth  nothing, 
that  this  good  woodman  sees  no  human  shape  for 
the  next  ten  years,  and  then  all  that  passes  between 
them  will  be,  '  Good  day,  woodman  !' — 'Good  day, 
sir!' — and  he  mimicked'tlie  deep  voice  of  him  of 
whom  they  spoke.      But  jiotw  it  be  landing  thi«  ap- 


S(J  RICHELIEU. 

pearance  of  gnyety,  Chavigni  was  not  easy :  and 
even  while  he  spf»ke.  lie  rude  on  with  no  smnll  pre- 
cipitation, till,  turning  into  a  narrow  forest  path,  the 
light  ot  the  moon,  which  had  illumined  the  greater 
part  of  the  hitih  road,  was  cut  off  entirely  by  the 
trees,  and  the  deep  gloom  obliged  thera  to  be  more 
cautious  in  proceeding.  At  length,  however,  they 
came  to  a  little  savanna,  surrounded  by  high  oaks, 
were  Chavijnt entirely  reined  in  his  horse,  and  blew 
a  single  note  on  his  horn,  which  was  soon  answered 
bv  a  similar  sound  at  some  distance. 


CH.^PTER  III. 


Which   shows   what    a  Ffnch  fore?!  was   at  night,  and   wh» 
ifihahited   i(. 

Those  whom  either  the  love  of  sylvan  sports  or 
tiiat  calm  meditative  charm  inherent  to  wood  scene- 
rv  has  tempted  to  ex|)lorc  the  jleeper  recesses  of 
the  forest  must  be  well  aware  that  many  particular 
glades  and  coverts  will  often  lie  secret  and  undis- 
covered amid  the  mazes  of  the  leafy  labyrintli,  even 
to  the  eyes  of  those  long  accustomed  t«»  investigate 
its  most  intricate  winding's.  In  those  countries 
where  forest  hunting  is  a  frequent  sport.  I  have  more 
than  once  found  myself  led  on  into  scenes  coni- 
pletely  new.  when  1  had  fancied  thai  lonir  e.xperi- 
ence  had  made  me  fully  accfuainted  with  every  rood 
of  the  woodland  round  about,  and  have  olten  met 
with  no  small  trouble  in  retracing  the  spot,  although 
1  took  all  pains  to  observe  the  way  thither  and  fix 
its  distinctive  marks  in  my  memory. 

In  tlie  heart  of  the  forest  of  Si.  Germain,  at  a  con- 
siderable distance  from  any  of  the  roads,  or  even  by- 
patha  of  the  wood,  lay   a  deep  dingia  or  dell,  whicU 


RICHELIEU.  87 

probably  had  been  a  gravel-pit  many  centuries  be- 
fore and  micrht  have  furnished  forth  sand  to  strew 
the  halls  of  Charlemagne,  for  auglii  I  know  to  the 
contrary.  However,  so  many  ages  had  elapsed  since 
it  had  been  employed  for  such  purpose,  that  many 
a  stout  oak  had  sprung,  and  flourished,  and  withered 
round  about  it,  and  had  left  the  ruins  of  their  once 
princely  forms  crumbling  on  its  brink.  At  the  time 
I  speak  of,  a  considerable  part  of  the  dell  itself  was 
filled  up  with  tangled  brushwood,  which  a  long  hot 
season  had  stripped  and  withered  ;  and  over  the 
edge  hung  a  quantity  of  dry  shrubs  and  stunted 
trees,  forming  a  thick  screen  over  the  wild  recess 
below. 

One  side,  and  one  side  only,  was  free  of  access, 
and  this  way  by  means  of  a  small  sandy  path  wind- 
ing down  into  the  bottom  of  the  dell,  between  two 
deep  banks,  which  assumed  almost  the  appearance 
of  clifls  as  the  road  descended.  This  little  footway 
conducted,  it  is  true,  into  the  most  profound  part  of 
the  hoUow.  but  then  immediately  lost  itself  in  the 
thick  underwood,  through  which  none  but  a  very 
practised  eye  would  have  discovered  the  means  of 
entering  a  deep  lair  of  ground,  sheltered  by  the 
steep  bank  and  its  superincumbent  trees  on  one 
side,  and  concealed  by  a  screen  of  wood  on  every 
other. 

On  the  night  I  have  mentioned,  this  well  conceal- 
ed retreat  was  tenanted  by  a  group  of  men,  whose 
wild  attire  harmonized  perfectly  with  the  rudeness 
of  the  scene  around.  The  apparel  of  almost  every 
class  was  discernible  among  them,  but  each  vesture 
plainly  showed,  that  it  had  long  passed  that  epoch 
generally  termed  ".better  days  5"  and  indeed,  the 
more  costly  had  been  their  original  nature,  the 
greater  was  their  present  state  of  degradation.  So 
that  what  had  once  been  the  suit  of  some  gay  cava- 
lier of  the  court,  and  which  doubtless  hail  shone  as 
such  in  the  circles  of  the  bright  and  the  fair,  having 
since  passed  through  the  hands  of  the  page  who  had 
perhaps  used  it  to  personate   hii  master,  and  tb* 


88  RICHELIEU.  ^¥  ' 

fripier  who  had  tried  hard  lo  restore  it  to  a  degree 
of  lustre,  and  the  pjoor  petitioner  who  had  brought 
it  and  borne  it  second-hand  to  court,  and  lost  both 
his  labour  and  his  monev — having  passed  through 
these,  and  perhaps  a  thousand  other  hands,  it  had 
gradually  acquired  that  sort  of  undetinable  tint, 
which  ought  properly  to  be  called  old-age  colour, 
and  at  present  served,  and  only  served,  lo  keep  its 
owner  from  the  winds  of  heaven.  At  the  same  time 
the  bulT  jerkin  which  covered  the  broad  sbnuhlers 
of  another  hard  by,  though  it  had  never  boai^ted 
much  finery,  had  escaped  with  only  a  few  rusty 
stains  from  its  former  intimacy  with  a  steel  cuirass, 
and  a  slight  gloss  upon  the  left  side,  which  indi- 
cated its  owners  habit  of  laying  his  hand  upon  his 
sword. 

Here,  too,  every  sort  of  offensive  weapon  was  to 
be  met  with.  The  long  Toledo  blade,  with  its  bas- 
ket hilt  and  black  scabbard  tipped  with  steel  ;  the 
double-handed  heavv  sword,  which  during  the  wars 
of  the  League  had  often  steaded  well  the  troops  of 
Henry  the  Fourth,  when  attacked  by  the  superior 
cavalry  t^f  the  Dukes  of  Guise  and  Mayenne,  and 
which  had  been  but  little  used  since  ;  the  poniard, 
the  stiletto,  the  heavy  petronel,  or  horse  pistol,  and 
the  sm.-tller  pistol,  which  had  been  but  lately  intro- 
duced, were  all  to  be  seen,  either  as  accompani- 
ments to  the  dress  of  some  of  the  party,  or  scatter- 
ed about  on  the  ground,  where  they  had  been  plac- 
ed for  greater  convenience. 

The  accoutrements  of  these  denizens  of  the  for- 
est were  kept  in  countenance  by  every  other  ac- 
cessory circumstance  of  appearance  ;  and  a  torch 
stuck  in  the  sand  in  the  midst,  glared  upon  features 
which  Salvator  might  have  loved  to  trace,  it  was 
not  alone  the  negligence  of  personal  appearance, 
shown  in  their  long  dishevelled  hair  and  untrimmed 
beards,  which  rendered  them  savagely  picturesque, 
but  many  a  furious  passion  had  there  written  deep 
traces  of  its  unbound  sway,  and  marked  them  with 
that  wild  and  undetiaable  expression,  which  habitu- 


RICHELIEU.  90 

al  vice  and  lawless  license  are  sure  to  leave  behind 
in  their  course. 

At  the  moment  I  tpeak  of^^  wine  had  been  circu- 
lating very  freely  among  the  robbers  j  for  such  in- 
deed they  were.  Some  were  sleeping,  either  with 
their  hands  clasped  over  their  knees,  and  their 
heads  drooping  down  to  meet  them,  or  stretched 
more  at  their  ease  under  the  trees,  snoring  loud  in 
answer  to  the  wind  that  whistled  through  the 
branches.  Some  sat  gazing  with  a  wise  sententious 
look  on  the  empty  gourds,  many  of  which,  fashioned 
into  bottles,  lay  scattered  about  upon  the  ground  ; 
and  two  or  three,  who  had  either  drunk  less  of  the 
potent  liquor,  or  whose  heads  were  better  calculat- 
ed to  resist  its  effects  than  the  rest,  sat  clustered 
together,  singing  and  chatting  by  turns,  arrived  ex- 
actly at  that  point  of  ebriety  where  a  man's  real 
character  shows  iiself,  notwithstanding  all  his  efforts 
to  conceal  it. 

The  bufFjerkin  we  have  spoken  of,  covered  the 
shoulders  of  one  among  this  litt'e  not  of  choice 
spirits,  who  still  woke  to  revel  after  sleep  had  laid 
his  leaden  mace  upon  their  companions  ;  and  it 
may  be  remarked,  that  a  pair  of  broader  shoulders 
are  rarely  to  be  seen  than  those  so  covered. 

Wouvermans  is  said  to  have  been  very  much  puz- 
zled by  a  figure  in  one  of  his  pictures,  which,  not- 
withstanding all  his  efforts,  he  could  never  keep 
doimi  (as  painters  express  it.)  Whatever  he  did, 
that  one  figure  was  always  salient,  and  more  promi- 
nent than  the  artist  intended  ;  nor  was  it  till  he  had 
half  blotted  it  out,  that  he  discovered  its  original 
defect  was  being  too  large.  Something  like  VVou- 
vermans'  figure,  the  freebooter  I  speak  of  stood  con- 
spicuous among  the  others,  from  the  Herculean 
proportion  of  his  limbs;  but  he  had,  in  addition, 
other  qualities  to  distinguish  him  from  the  rest. 
His  brow  was  broad,  and  of  that  peculiar,  form  to 
which  physiognomists  have  attached  the  idea  of  a 
stroog  determined  spirit ;  at  the  name  tiuie,  the 


40  RlClIELlEtf. 

clear  fparkle  of  his  blue  Norman  eye  bespoke  an 
impetuous,  but  not  a  depraved  mind. 

A  deep  scar  was  apparent  on  liis  left  cheek  3  and 
the  wound  which  had  been  its  progenitor,  was  most 
probably  the  cause  of  a  sneering  turn  in  the  corner 
of  his  mouth,  which,  with  a  bold  expression  of  dar- 
ing confidence,  completed  the  mute  history  that  his 
face  afforded,  of  a  life  spent  in  arms,  or  well,  or  ill, 
as  circumstances  prompted. — an  unshrinking  heart, 
which  dared  every  personal  evil,  and  a  bright  but 
unprincipled  mind,  which  followed  no  dictates  but 
the  passions  of  the  moment. 

He  was  now  in  his  gayest  mood,  and  holding  a 
horn  in  his  hand,  trolled  forth  an  old  French  ditty, 
•eeming  confident  of  pleasing,  or  perhaps  careless 
whether  he  pleased  or  not. 

•'  Thou  'rt  an  r?3,  Robin,  fhou  'rt  an  ass, 

Tolhink  that  £i;reat  men  be 
More  than  I  thai  lie  on  ihe  e;rasj 

Under  Ibe  gieeinvnod  liee. 
I  leli  Ihee  no,  I  le!l  ihie  no, 
The  great  are  slaves  lo  their  gilded  show. 

Now  tell  me,  Robin,  leli  me, 

Arell)«  ceiliiiss  <>f  gay  saloons 
60  richly  wrought  as  )on  sky  we  see, 

Or  their  glitter  so  bright  ai  the  moon's 
I  tell  thee  no,  I  tell  thee  no. 

The  great  are  slaves  to  their  gilded  show. 

Say  not  nay,  Robin,  say  not  nay  ! 

There  is  never  a  heail  so  frf  e. 
In  the  vest  of  gi.lil  ;  and  the  paljce  gny, 

As  ill  buff 'neat  h  the  forest  tree. 
I  tell  thee  yea,  I  leli  thee  yea, 
The  great  were  made  for  Ihe  poor  man's  prey-,'' 

So  sang  the  owner  of  the  buff  jerkin,  and  his  song 
met  with  more  or  less  applause  from  his  compan- 
ions, according  to  the  particular  honour  of  each. 
One  only  among  the  freebooters  soemed  scarcely 
t©  participats  in  the  merriment.    He  bad  drunk  as 


RIOHEtlEtf.  41 

deeply  as  the  rest,  but  he  appeared  neither  gay,  nor 
stupid,  nor  sleepy  ;  and  while  the  tall  Norman  sang, 
he  cast,  from  time  to  lime,  a  calm  sneering  glance 
upon  the  singer,  which  showed  no  especial  love, 
either  (or  the  music  or  musician. 

"  You  sing  about  prey."  said  he,  as  the  other  con- 
cluded the  last  stanza  of  his  ditty — "  You  sing  about 
prey,  and  yet  you  are  no  great  falcon,  after  all,  if  we 
may  judge  from  to-day." 

"  And  why  not.  Monsieur  Pierremont  Le  Blanc  V 
demanded  the  JNorman,  without  displaying  aught  of 
ill-humour  in  his  counienance  :  '' though  they  ought 
to  have  cilled  you  Monsieur  Le  JNoir — Mr.  Black, 
not  Mr.  White. — Nay,  do  not  frown,  good  comrade  ; 
I  speak  but  i»f  your  beard,  not  of  your  heart.  What, 
art  thou  still  grumbling,  because  we  did  not  cut  the 
young  count's  tliroat  outright  V 

"JNay,  not  for  that,"' answered  the  other,  "but 
because  we  have  lost  the  best  man  among  us,  for 
want  of  his  being  well  seconded." 

"  You  lie,  parbleu  !"'  cried  the  Norman,  drawing 
his  sword,  and  fixing  his  thumb  upon  a  stain,  about 
three  inches  from  the  point.  "Did  not  I  lend  the 
youth  so  much  of  n)y  iron  toothpick  ?  and  would 
have  sent  it  through  him,  if  his  horse  had  not  carri- 
ed him  away.  But  I  know  you.  Master  Bucanier — 
You  would  have  had  me  stab  him  behind,  while 
Mortagne  slashed  his  head  before.  Tiiat  would 
have  been  a  tit  task  for  a  Norman  gentleman,  and  a 
soldier  !     I  whose  life  he  saved  too  \" 

'•  Did  you  not  swear,  when  you  joined  our  troop," 
demanded  tiie  other,  to '•  lorget  every  thing  that 
went  before  1" 

The  Norman  hesitated  ;  he  well  remembered  his 
oath,  against  which  t!ie  better  feelings  of  his  heart 
were  perhaps  sometimes  rebellious.  He  felt,  too, 
conlused  at  the  direct  appeal  the  other  had  made  to 
it ;  and  to  pass  it  by,  he  caught  at  the  word  forget, 
answering  with  a  stave  of  the  song — 


49  RICHELIEU. 

"Forget!  forsetl  let  ilaves  Target 

The  pangs  and  chains  they  bear  ; 
The  brave  reiiitmber  fvtryiJebt 

To  honour,  and  'he  fair. 
For  these  are  bonds  (hat  bind  us  more, 
Yet  leave  ui  freer  than  befoie." 

'•'  Yes,  let  those  that  can  do  so.  forget :  but  1  very 
well  remember,  at  the  battle  at  Perpignan,  I  had 
charged  with  the  advanced  guard,  when  the  fire  of 
the  enemy's  musketeers,  and  a  masked  battery 
which  began  to  enfilade  our  line,  soon  threw  our 
left  flank  into  disorder,  and  a  charge  of  cavalry 
drove  back  De  Coucy's  troop.  Mielleraye's  stan- 
dard was  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  when  I  and 
five  others  rallied  to  rescue  it.  A  gloomy  old 
Spaniard  fired  his  petronel  and  disabled  my  left  arm, 
but  still  1  held  the  standard-pole  with  my  right, 
keeping  the  standard  before  me  ;  but  my  Don  drew 
his  long  Toledo,  and  had  got  the  point  to  my 
breast,  just  going  to  run  it  through  me  standard  and 
all.  as  I've  otten  spitted  a  duck's  liver  and  a  piece 
of  bacon  on  a  skewer;  when,  turning  round  my 
head,  to  see  if  no  help  was  near,  I  perceived  this 
young  Count  de  Blenau's  banderol,  coming  like 
lightning  over  the  field,  and  driving  all  before  it  ; 
and  blue  and  gold  were  then  the  best  colours  that 
ever  I  saw.  for  they  gave  me  new  heart,  and  wrench- 
ing the  standard-pole  round — But  hark,  there  is  the 
horn  !"' 

As  he  spoke,  the  clear  full  note  of  a  hunting- 
horn  came  swelling  from  the  south-west ;  and  in  a 
moment  after,  anoiher,  much  nearer  to  them,  seem- 
ed to  answer  the  first.  Each,  after  giving  breath  to 
one  solitary  note,  relapsed  into  silence;  and  such 
of  the  robbers  as  were  awake,  having  listened  till 
the  signal  met  with  a  reply,  bestirred  themselves  to 
rouse  their  sleeping  companions,  and  to  put  some 
face  of  order  upon  the  disarray  which  their  revels 
had  left  behind. 

"  Now,  Sir  Norman,"  cried  he  that  they  distin- 
guished by  the  name  of  Le  Blanc ,  "  we  shall  see 


RICHELIEU.-  48 

how  monseigneur  rates  your  slackness  in  his  cause. 
Will  you  tell  him  your  long  story  of  the  seige  of 
Perpignan  V 

"  Pardie  !"  cried  the  other,  "  1  care  no  more  for 
him  than  I  do  for  you.  Every  man  that  stands  be- 
fore me  on  forest  ground  is  iiut  a  man,  and  I  will 
treat  him  as  such." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !"  exclaimed  his  companion  5  "  it 
were  good  to  see  thee  bully  a  privy  counsellor  ; 
why.  thou  daresl  as  soon    take  a  lion  by  the  beard." 

"  1  dare  pass  my  sword  through  his  heart,  were 
there  need,"  answered  the  Norman  ;  '•  but  here 
they  come, — stand  you  aside  and  let  me  deal  with 
him." 

Approaching  steps,  and  a  rustling  sound  in  the 
thick  screen  of  wood  already  mentioned,  as  the  long 
boughs  were  forced  back  by  the  passage  of  some 
person  along  the  narrow  pathway,  announced  the 
arrival  of  those  for  whom  the  robbers  had  been 
waiting. 

"  Why,  it  is  as  dark  as  the  pit  of  Acheron  !"  cried 
a  deep  voice  among  the  trees.  "  Are  we  never  to 
see  the  light  I  saw  from  above  ?  Oh,  here  it  is.— 
Chauvelin,  hold  back  that  bough,  it  has  caught  my 
cloak."  As  the  speaker  uttered  the  last  words,  an 
armed  servant,  in  Isabel  and  silver,  appeared  at  the 
entrance  of  the  path,  holding  back  the  stray  branches, 
while  Chavigni  himself  advanced  into  the  circle  of 
robbers,  who  stood  grouped  around  in  strange  pic- 
turesque attitudes,  some  advancing  boldly,  as  if  to 
confront  the  daring  stranger  that  thus  intruded  on 
their  haunts,  some  gazing  with  a  kind  of  curiosity 
upon  the  being  so  different  from  themselves,  who 
had  thus  placed  himself  m  sudden  contact  with 
them,  some  lowering  upon  him  with  bended  heads, 
like  wolvea  when  they  encounter  a  nobler  beast  of 
prey. 

The  statesman  himself  advanced  in  silence;  and, 
with  something  of  a  frown  upon  his  brow,  glanced 
his  eye  firmly  over  every  lace  around,  nor  was  there 
an  eye  among  them  tiiat  did  not  sink  before  the 


44  RlCnEI^IED. 

stern  commandins  fire  of  his,  as  it  rested  for  a  mo- 
ment upon  the  countenance  of  each,  seeming  calm- 
ly to  construe  tlie  expression  of  the  features,  and 
read  into  the  soul  beneath,  as  we  often  see  a  stu- 
dent turn  over  the  pages  of  some  foreign  book,  and 
collect  their  meaning  at  a  glance. 

'•  Well,  sirs.  '  said  he  at  length,  "  my  knave  tells 
me,  that  ye  have  failed  in  executing  my  com- 
mands.'' 

The  Norman  we  have  somewhat  minutely  de- 
scribed hereli>fore,  now  began  to  e.\cuse  himself 
and  his  fellows  ;  and  was  proceeding  to  set  f»)rth 
that  they  had  done  all  wldch  came  within  their 
power  and  province  to  do.  and  was  also  engaged  in 
stating,  that  no  men  could  do  more,  when  Chavig- 
ni  interrupted  hmi.  "Silence,"'  cried  he,  wi  h  but 
little  apparent  respect  tor  these  lords  of  the  forest, 
"  1  blame  ye  not  for  not  doing  more  tlian  ye  can  do  j 
but  how  dare  ye.  mongrel  bloodhounds,  to  disobey 
my  strict  commands  ?  and  when  1  bade  ye  abstain 
from  injuring  the  youth,  how  is  it  ye  have  mangled 
him  like  a  stag  torn  by  the  wolves  ?'' 

Tht'  iS'orman  turned  with  a  look  of  subdued  tri- 
umph towards  him  who  had  previously  censured  his 
forbearance.  '"  Speak,  speak,  Le  Blanc  !"  cried  he  5 
"  answer  nmnseigneur. — Well,''  continued  he,  as 
the  other  drew  back,  ■•the  truth  is.  Sir  Count,  we 
were  divided  in  opinion  with  respect  to  the  best 
method  of  fuliilling  your  commands,  so  we  called  a 
council  of  war — " 

'•  A  council  of  war  !"  repeated  Chavigni,  his  lip 
curling  into  an  ineffable  sneer.  "  Well,  proceed, 
proceed !  You  are  a  INorman,  I  presume — and 
brarrgard,  I  perceive. — Proceed,  sir,  proceed  1" 

Be  it  remarked  that  by  this  time  the  iiiHuence  of 
Chavigni's  first  appearance  liad  greatly  worn  away 
from  Uie  mind  of  the  Norman.  'J  he  commanding 
dignity  of  the  statesman,  though  it  still,  in  a  degree, 
overawed,  had  lost  the  effect  of  novelty  ;  and  the 
bold  heart  of  the  freebooter  began  to  reproach  him 
for  truckling  to  a  being  who  was  inferior  to  himself, 


RICHELIEU.  45 

according  to  his  estimate  of  human  dignities — nu 
estimate  formed  not  alone  on  personal  courage,  but 
also  on  personal  strength. 

However,  as  we  have  said,  lie  was  in  some  meas- 
ure overawed ;  and  thc»ugh  he  would  have  done 
much  to  prove  his  daring  in  the  si-jht  of  his  com- 
panions, his  mind  was  not  yet  sutficienily  wrought 
up  to  shake  off  all  respect,  and  he  answered  boldly, 
but  calmly,  '■  Well,,  Sir  Count,  give  me  your  pa- 
tience, and  you  shall  hear.  But  my  story  must  be 
told  my  own' way,  or  not  at  all.  We  called  a  coun- 
cil of  war,  then,  where  every  man  gave  his  opinion, 
and  my  voice  vvas  for  shooting  Monsieur  de  Ble- 
nau's  horse  as  he  rode  by,  and  then  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  confusion  amon°:  his  lackeys,  to  seize 
upon  his  person,  and  carry  him  into  St.  Herman's 
brake,  which  lies  between  Le  Croix  de  bois  and  the 
river — You  know  where  1  mean,  monseigneur  T" 

'•  i\o  truly,"  answered  tlie  statesman  :  '•  but,  as  1 
guess,  some  deep  part  of  the  forest,  where  you 
could  have  searched  him  at  your  ease — Tiie  ph^n 
was  a  good  one.     Why  went  it  not  forward  ?"' 

'•  You  shall  hear  in  good  time,"'  answered  the 
freebooter,  growing  somewhat  more  familiar  in  his 
lone.  *'  As  you  say,  St.  Herman's  brake  is  deep 
enough  in  the  forest — and  if  we  had  once  housed 
him  there,  we  might  have  searched  him  fioin  top  to 
toe  for  the  packet — ay,  and  looked  in  liis  mouih  if 
we  found  it  no  where  else.  But  the  hrst  objection 
was,  that  an  arquebuse,  though  a  very  pretty  weap- 
on, and  pleasant  serviceable  companion  in  broad 
brawl  and  battle,  talks  too  loud  for  secret  service, 
and  the  noise  thereof  might  put  tlie  count's  people 
on  their  guard  before  we  secured  his  person.  How- 
ever, they  say  '  a  Xorman  cow  can  alway^i  get  over  a 
style,'  so  I  offered  to  do  the  business  with  yon  arba- 
lete  •,'  and  he  pointed  to  a  steel  cross-bow  lying 
near,  of  ihat  peculiar  shape  which  seems  to  unite 
the  properties  of  the  cross-bow  and  gun,  propelling 
the  bailor  bolt  by  means  of  the  stiff  arched  spring 
and  cord,  by  which    little  no»se  is  made,  while  tho 


40  RICHELIED. 

aim  is  rendered  more  certain  by  a  long  tube  similar 
to  the  barrel  of  a  musket,  through  which  the  shot 
passes. 

'*  When  was  I  ever  known  to  miss  my  aim  ?"' 
continued  the  Norman.  '•  Why,  I  always  shoot  my 
stags  in  the  eye.  for  fear  of  hurting  the  skin.  How- 
ever, Montagne.  your  old  friend.  Monsieur  de  Cha- 
vigni — who  was  a  snrt  of  band  captain  among  us, 
loved  blood,  as  you  know,  like  an  unreclaimed  fal- 
con ;  besides,  he  had  some  old  grudge  against  the 
count,  who  turned  him  out  of  the  queen's  ante- 
room, when  he  was  ancient  in  the  cardinal's  guard. 
He  it  was  who  ever-ruled  my  proposal.  He  would 
have  shot  him  willingly  enough,  but  your  gentle- 
man would  not  hear  of  that;  so  we  attacked  the 
count's  train,  at  the  turn  of  the  road — boldly,  and  in 
the  face.  Montagne  was  lucky  enough  to  get  a 
fair  cut  at  his  head,  which  slashed  through  his  bea- 
ver, and  laid  his  scull  bare,  but  went  no  farther, 
only  serving  to  mike  the  youth  as  savage  as  a  hurt 
boar ;  for  1  have  only  time  to  see  his  hand  laid  up- 
on his  sword,  when  its  cross  was  knocking  against 
Montagne  s  ribs  before,  and  the  point  shining  out 
between  his  blade-bones  behind.  It  was  done  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye  '' 

•'  He  is  a  gallant  vouth,''  said  Chavigni  ;  "  he  al- 
wavs  was  from  a  boy  ;  but  where  is  your  wounded 
Cdmnanion  ?"' 

••Wounded!''  cried  the  Norman.  ''Odds  life! 
he's  dead.  It  was  enough  to  have  killed  the  devil. 
There  he  lies,  poor  fellow,  wrapped  in  his  cloak. 
Will  you  please  to  look  upon  him,  Sir  Counsellor?"' 
and  snatching  up  one  of  the  torches,  he  approached 
the  spot  where  the  (iead  man  lay,  under  a  bank 
covertd  with  withered  brushwood  and  stunted 
trees. 

Chavijni  followed  with  a  slow  step  and  gloomy 
hriw,  the  robbers  drawing  hack  at  his  approach  ; 
for  though  they  held  high  birth  in  but  little  respect, 
the  redoubled  name  and  fearless  bearing  of  the 
ftatesman    bad  power  over  even   their  ungoverned 


RICHELIEU.  47 

spirits.  He,  however,  who  had  been  c.illed  Pierrc- 
pont  Le  Bhinc  by  the  tall  Norman.  tv\itclie(l  his 
coiiipniiion  b_v  the  sleeve  as  lie  lighted  Chavigni  on. 
*'  A  coward  hound,  Norman  !"'  whispered  he — "  thou 
hast  felt  the  laeh — a  cowed  hound  !'' 

The  IS'orman  glanced  on  him  a  look  of  fire,  but 
passing  on  in  silence,  he  disengajipd  the  mantle 
from  the  corpse,  and  displayed  the  face  of  his  dead 
companion,  whose  calm  closed  eyes  and  unruffled 
features  might  have  been  supposed  to  picture  quiet 
sleep,  had  nut  the  ashy  paleness  of  his  cheek,  and 
the  drop  of  the  underjaw,  told  that  the  soul  no 
lonirer  lenanled  its  earthly  dwelling.  'I'he  bosom 
of  the  unfortunate  man  remained  open,  in  the  state 
in  which  his  comrades  had  left  it.  after  an  ineffectu- 
al attempt  to  give  him  aid  •,  and  in  the  left  side  ap- 
peared a  small  wound,  where  the  weapon  of  his 
opponent  had  found  entrance,  so  trifling  in  appear- 
ance, that  it  seemed  a  marvel  how  so  little  a  thing 
could  overthrow  the  prodigious  strength  which 
those  limbs  announced,  and  rob  them  of  that  hardy 
spirit  which  animated  them  some  few  hours  be- 
fore. 

Chavigni  gazed  upon  him,  with  his  arms  cros.sed 
upon  his  breast,  and  for  a  moment  his  mind  wan- 
dered far  into  those  paths,  to  which  such  a  sight 
naturally  directs  the  course  of  our  ideas,  till,  his 
thoughts  losing  themselves  in  the  uncertainty  ofthe 
void  before  them,  by  a  sudden  effort  he  recalled 
them  to  the  business  in  whibh  he  was  immediately 
engaged. 

"  Well,  he  has  bitterly  expiated  the  disobedience 
of  my  commands;  but  tell  me."  he  said,  turning  to 
the  Norman,  who  still  continued  to  hold  the  torch 
over  the  dead  man,  '•  how  is  it  ye  have  dared  to 
force  my  servant  to  show  himself  and  my  liveries 
in  this  attack,  contrary  to  my  special  order  ?' 

"That  is  easily  told,"  answered  the  Norman,  ae- 
sumin2  a  tone  equ.illy  bold  and  peremptory  vvith 
that  of  the  statesman.  "  Thus  it  stands,  Sir  Count : 
you  men  of  qaality   often  employ  us  nobility  of  the 


43  RICHELIED. 

forest  to  do  what  you  either  cannot,  or  dare  not  do 
for  yourselves  ;  then,  if  all  goes  well,  you  pay  us 
scantily  for  our  pains  ;  if  it  goes  ill.  you  hanu  us 
for  your  own  doings.  But  we  will  have  none  of 
that.  If  we  are  to  be  falcons  for  your  game,  we 
will  risk  the  stroke  of  the  heron's  bill,  but  we  will 
not  have  our  necks  wrung  after  we  have  struck  the 
prey.  When  your  lackey  was  present  it  was  your 
deed.     Mark  ye  that,  Sir  Counsellor  V 

''  Villain,  thou  art  insolent  !''  cried  Chavigni, 
forgetting,  in  the  height  of  passion,  the  fearful  odds 
against  him,  in  case  of  quarrel,  at  such  a  moment. 
"  How  dare  you,  slave,  to — " 

"Villain!  and  slave  I"  cried  the  Norman,  inter- 
rupting him,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  sword. 
'"  Know,  proud  sir,  that  I  dare  any  thing.  You  are 
now  in  the  green  forest,  not  at  council-board,  to 
prate  of  daring." 

Chavigni"s  dignity,  like  his  prudence,  became  lost 
in  his  anger.  '•  Boasting  Norman  coward  I'  cried 
he.  •'  who  had  not  even  courage  when  he  saw  his 
leader  slain  before  his  face — '' 

The  Norman  threw  the  torch  from  his  hand  and 
drew  his  weapon  ;  but  Chavigni's  sword  sprang  in  a 
moment  from  the  scabbard.  He  was.  perhaps,  the 
best  swordsman  of  his  day  ;  and  before  his  servant 
(wh<^  advanced,  calling  loudly  to  Lafemas  to  come 
forth  from  the  wood  where  he  had  remained  from 
the  first)  could  approach,  or  the  robbers  could  show 
any  signs  of  taking  part  in  the  fray,  the  bl  ides  of  the 
statesman  and  the  freebooter  had  crossed,  and, 
maugre  the  Norman's  vast  strength,  his  weapon  was 
instantly  wrenched  from  his  hand,  and,  flying  over 
the  heads  of  his  companions,  struck  against  the 
bank  above. 

Chavigni  drew  back,  as  if  to  pass  his  sword 
through  the  body  of  his  opponent}  but  the  moment 
he  had  been  thus  engaged,  gave  time  for  reflection 
on  the  imprudence  of  his  conduct,  and  calmly  re- 
turning his  sword  to  itg  sheath,  '•  Thou  art  no  cow- 
ard, after  all/'  said  he,  addressing  the  Norman  in  a 


RICHELIEO.  4f 

soflened  tone  of  voice ;  "-but  trast  me,  friend,  that 
boasting  graces  but  little  a  brave  man.  As  for  the 
rest,  it  is  no  disgrace  to  have  measured  swords  with 
Chavigni," 

The  Norman  was  one  of  those  men  so  totally  un- 
accustomed to  command  their  passions,  that,  lilte 
slaves  wlio  have  thrown  off  their  chains,  each  strug- 
gles for  the  mastery,  obtains  it  for  a  moment,  and  is 
again  deprived  of  power  by  some  one  more  violent 
still. 

The  dignity  of  the  statesman's  manner,  the  ap- 
parent generosity  of  his  conduct,  and  the  degree  of 
gentleness  with  which  he  spoke,  acted  upon  the 
feelings  of  the  Norman  like  the  waves  of  the  sea 
when  they  meet  the  waters  of  the  Dordogne,  driv- 
ing them  back  even  to  their  very  source  wiih  irre- 
sistible violence.  An  unwonted  tear  trembled  in 
his  eye.  "  iMonseigneur,  I  have  done  foul  wrong," 
said  he,  "  in  thus  urging  you,  when  you  trusted 
yourself  among  us.  But  you  have  punished  me; 
more  by  your  forbearance,  than  if  you  had  passed 
your  sword  through  my  body." 

"  Ha  I  such  thoughts  in  a  freebooter  !"  cried 
Chavigni,  "  Friend,  this  is  not  thy  right  trade. 
But  what  means  all  this  smoke  that  gathers  round 
us  ! — Surely  those  bushes  are  on  fire  ; — see  the 
sparks  how  they  rise  !" 

His  remark  called  the  eyes  of  all  upon  that  part 
of  the  dingle  into  which  the  Norman  had  incau- 
tiously thrown  his  torch,  on  drawing  his  sword  up- 
on the  statesman.  Continued  sparks,  mingled  with 
a  thick  cloud  of  smoke,  were  rising  quickly  from  it, 
sh.%«7ing  plainly  that  the  fire  had  caught  some  ofthe 
dry  bu&Ses  thereabout ;  and  in  a  moment  after  a 
bright  f^ime  burst  forth,  speedily  communicating  it- 
8t-lf  ♦'!  the  old  withered  oaks  round  the  spot,  and 
threatening  to  spread  destruction  into  the  heart  of 
the  forest. 

In  an  instant  all  the  robbers  were  engaged  in  the 
most  strenuous  endeavours  to  extinguish  the  fire  j 

VOL.  I.  4 


01  RICHELIEU. 

but  the  distance  to  which  the  vast  strength  of  the 
Norman  had  hurled  the  torch  among  the  bushes. 
rendered  ail  access  extremely  difficult.  JNo  water 
was  to  be  procured,  and  the  means  they  employed, 
that  of  cutting  down  the  smaller  trees  and  bu>lies 
with  their  swords  and  axes,  instead  of  opposing  any 
obstacle  to  the  dames,  seemed  rather  to  accelerate 
their  progress.  From  bush  to  bush,  from  tree  to 
tree,  the  impetuous  element  spread  on,  till,  finding 
themselves  almost  girt  in  by  the  fire,  the  heat  and 
smoke  of  which  were  becoming  too  intense  for  en- 
durance, the  robbers  abandoned  their  useless  ef- 
forts to  extinguish  it,  and  hurried  to  gather  up  their 
scattered  arms  and  g.irments,  before  the  flames 
reached  the  spot  of  their  late  revels. 

The  Jsorman,  however,  together  with  Chavigni 
and  his  servant,  still  continued  their  exertions  ;  and 
even  Lafemas,  who  had  come  forth  from  his  hiding- 
place,  gave  some  awkward  assistance  ;  when  sud- 
denly the  jSorman  stopped,  put  his  hand  to  his  ear, 
to  aid  his  hearing  amid  the  cracking  of  the  wood 
and  the  roaring  of  the  flames,  and  exclaimed,  "  I 
hear  horse  upon  the  hill — ibllow  me,  monseigneur. 
St.  Patrice  guide  us  !  this  is  a  bad  business  :  follow 
me  !"  So  saying,  three  steps  brought  him  to  the 
flat  below,  where  his  companions  were  still  engag- 
ed in  gathering  together  all  they  had  left  on  the 
ground. 

"  Messieurs  !"'  he  cried  to  the  robbers,  "  leave  all 
useless  lumber  3  1  hear  horses  coming  down  the 
hill.  It  must  be  a  lieatenant  of  the  forest,  and  the 
gardes  champetres,  alarmed  by  the  fire — seek  your 
horses,  quick  I — each  his  own  way.  We  meet  at 
St.  Herman's  brake — You,  monseigneur,  lollow  me, 
I  will  be  your  guide  ;  but  dally  not,  sir,  if.  as  J  guess, 
you  would  rather  be  deemed  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore, 
than  in  the  Forest  of  St.  Germain.'' 

So  saying,  he  drew  aside  the  boughs,  disclosing  a 
path  somewhat  to  the  right  of  that  by  which  Cha- 
▼igni  had  entered  their  retreat,  and  which  apparent- 
ly led  to  the  high  sand  cliff  which  flanked  it  on  the 


RICHELIEU.  51 

north.  The  statesman,  with  his  servant  and  Lafe- 
mas,  followed  quickly  upon  his  steps,  only  lighted 
by  the  occasional  gleam  of  the  riames,  as  they 
flashed  and  flickered  through  the  foliage  of  the 
trees. 

Having  to  struggle  every  moment  with  the  low 
branches  of  the  hazel  and  the  tangled  briars  that  shot 
across  the  path,  it  was  some  time  ere  lliey  reached 
the  bank,  and  there  the  footway  tiiey  had  hitherto 
followed  seemed  to  end.  '•  Here  are  steps,"  said 
the  JSorman,  in  a  low  voice ;  ''  hold  by  the  boughs, 
monseigneur,  lest  your  footing  fail.  Here  is  the  first 
step."' 

'I'he  ascent  was  not  difficult,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
they  had  lost  sight  of  the  dingle  and  the  flames  by 
which  it  was  surrounded  ;«only  every  now  and  then, 
where  the  branches  opened,  a  broad  light  fell  upon 
their  path,  telling  that  the  fire  still  raged  with  un- 
abated fury.  A  moment  or  two  after,  they  could 
perceive  that  the  track  entered  upon  a  small  savan- 
na, on  which  the  moon  was  still  shining,  her  beams 
showing  with  a  strange  sickly  light,  mingled  as  they 
were  with  the  fitful  gleams  of  the  flames  and  the  red 
reflection  of  the  sky.  The  whole  of  this  small  plain, 
however,  was  quite  sufficiently  illuminated  to  allow 
Chavigni  and  his  companion  to  distinguish  two 
horses  fastened  by  their  bridles  to  a  tree  hard  by  : 
and  a  momentary  glance  convinced  the  statesman, 
that  the  spot  where  he  and  Lafemas  had  left  their 
beasts,  was  again  before  him, although  he  had  arriv- 
ed there  by  another  and  much  shorter  path  than 
that  by  which  he  had  been  conducted  to  the  rendez- 
vous. 

*'  We  have  left  all  danger  behind  us,  monseign- 
eur,"' said  the  robber,  after  having  carefully  ex- 
amined the  savanna,  to  ascertain  that  no  spy  lurk- 
ed among  tho  trees  around.  '•  The  flies  are  all 
swarming  round  the  flames.  There  stand  your 
horses — mount,  and  good  speed  attend  you  1  Your 
servant  must  go  with  me,  for  our  beasts  are  not  so 
nigh." 


51  RICHELIEtt, 

Chavigni  whispered  a  word  in  the  robber's  ear, 
who  in  return  bowed  low,  with  an  air  of  profound  re- 
spect. ••  1  will  attend  your  lordship—"  replied  he, 
'•  and  without  fear." 

'•  You  may  do  so  in  safety,"  said  the  statesman  ; 
and  mounting  his  horse,  after  waiting  a  moment  for 
the  judge,  he  look  his  way  once  more  towards  Lhe 
high  road  to  St.  Germain. 


RIOIIELIEU. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Ill  which  the  lenrnH  reHclir  will  «!i»cov«>r  <hnt  it  ii  eny  to 
mi^e  MiH|iiriiiii4  witJMiit  :<iiy  caiue,  and  Uul  royalty  i»  not 
|ii\(eii(  aijiiinil  tiipertlitinii. 

We  must  now  return  to  the  principal  personage 
of  our  hibtory,  and  accompany  niin  on  hs  way  to- 
wards St.  (M'rmuin,  wliiilier  lie  was  wendinjj;  when 
last  wo  loll  iiiin. 

There  are  sonic  authors  fond  of  hoUling  their  rea- 
<lers  in  suspense,  of  l)riiii[ing  tlnMU  into  unexpected 
•ituationa,  and  surprisim;  ihein  into  ap|)hiuse.  All 
•uch  things  are  extreiM«;ly  appropriate  in  a  novel  or 
romance;  hut  as  this  is  a  true  and  authentic  his- 
tory, and  as  oke  I  detiist  wiiat  theatrical  folks  call 
"  claplrap,'  I  shall  |)ro(;(!eil  to  record  the  facta  in 
the  iirder  in  whicii  llicy  took  place,  as  nearly  ns  it 
is  po8«ihle  to  do  so,  ai'ul  will,  like  our  old  friend 
Othello,  "  a  round  unvarnished  tale  deliver."' 

The  distance  to  i>t.  ( Jerniain  was  consi^lorable, 
and  natural'y  appeared  still  lonijer  than  it  really  was 
to  persons  unacquainted  with  one  step  of  the  road 
bclore  theni.xnd  apprehensive  of  a  thousand  occur- 
rences hdlli  likely  and  unlikely.  Nolhinj,'  however 
happened  to  interrupt  them  on  the  way  ;  and  their 
journey  passed  over  not  only  in  peace,  hut  pretty 
much  in  silenre  also.  Both  the  ladies  who  occupi- 
ed the  insi»le  of  the  carriaj^e  seemed  to  he  verv  Buf- 
ficienlly  taken  up  with  their  own  thoujrlMs.  and  no 
way  disposed  to  loquacity,  so  that  the  only  hreak  to 
the  melancholy  stillness  which  hung  «>yer  ihein 
was  now  and  then  a  half-formed  senteiu-e,  proreed- 
int<  from  whai  was  rapidly  passiujj  in  the  mnuls  of 
each,  or  the  compUining  creak  ol  the  heavy  wheelf 


54  RICHELIEU. 

as  they  ground  their  unwilling  way  through  the  less 
practicable  parts  of  the  forest  round. 

At  times,  ton.  a  groan  from  the  lips  of  their  wound- 
ed companion  interrupted  the  silence,  as  the  rough- 
ness of  the  way  jolted  the  ponderous  vehicle  in 
which  he  was  carried,  and  reawakened  him  to  a 
sense  o(  pain. 

Long  ere  they  had  reached  St.;Germain,  night  had 
fallen  over  their  road,  and  nothing  could  be  distin- 
girshed  bv  those  within  the  carriage,  but  the  figures 
of  the  two  horsemen  who  kept  close  to  the  windows. 
The  interior  was  still  darker,  and  it  was  only  a  kind 
of  inarticulate  sob  from  the  other  side  which  made 
the  marchioness  inquire,  "  Pauline !  you  are  not 
weeping  V 

The  young  lady  did  not  positively  say  whether 
she  was  or  not.  but  replied  in  a  voice  which  showed 
her  mother's  conjecture  to  be  well  founded. 

"  It  was  not  thus,  mamma,"  she  said,  "  that  I  had 
hoped  to  arrive  nt  St.  Germain." 

"Fie,  fie!  Pauline,"  replied  the  old  lady;  "I 
have  long  tried  to  make  you  feel  like  a  woman,  and 
you  are  still  a  child,  a  weak  child.  These  acci- 
dents, and  worse  than  those,  occur  to  every  one  in 
the  course  of  life,  and  they  must  be  met  with  forti- 
tude. Have  vou  flattered  yourself  that  j/oii  would 
be  exempt  from  the  common  sorrows  of  humani- 
ty ?•' 

'•  But  if  he  should  die  ?"  said  Pauline,  with  the 
tone  of  one  who  longs  to  be  soothed  out  of  their 
fears.  The  old  ladv.  however,  applied  no  such  unc- 
tion to  the  wound  in  her  daughter's  heart.  Madame 
de  Beaumont  had  herself  been  reared  in  the  school 
of  adversity  ;  and  while  her  mind  snd  principles 
had  been  thus  strengthened  and  confirmed,  her  feel- 
ings had  not  been  rendered  more  acute.  In  the 
preseiit  instance,  whether  she  spoke  it  heedlessly^ 
or  whether  she  intended  to  destroy  one  passion  by 
exciting  another,  to  cure  Pauline's  grief  by  rousing 
her  anger,  her  answer  afforded  but  little   consola- 


RICHELIEU.  55 

tion.  "  If  he  dies,"  said  she,  dryly,  "  why  I  suppo«e 
the  fair  lady,  whose  picture  he  has  in  his  bosom, 
would  weep,  and  you — "' 

A  deep  groan  from  their  wounded  companion 
broke  in  upon  her  speech,  and  suggested  to  the 
marchioness  that  he  might  not  be  quite  so  insensi- 
ble  as  he  seemed.  Such  an  answer,  too,  was  not 
so  palatable  to  Pauline  as  to  induce  her  to  urge  the 
conversation  any  farther  ;  so  that  silence  again  re- 
sumed her  empire  over  the  party,  remaining  undis* 
turbed  till  the  old  lady  drawing  back  the  curtain, 
announced  that  they  were  entering  St.  Germain. 

A  few  minutes  more  brought  them  to  the  lodging 
of  the  Count  de  Blenau  ;  and  here  the  marchioneai 
descending,  gave  all  the  necessary  directions  in  or- 
der that  the  young  gentleman  mi?ht  be  carried  to 
his  sleeping-chamber  in  the  easiest  and  most  con- 
venient method  ;  while  Pauline,  without  proffering 
any  aid,  sat  back  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  carriage. 
Wor  would  any  thing  have  shown  that  she  wa«  in- 
terested in  what  passed  around  her,  save  when  the 
light  of  a  torch  glaring  into  the  vehicl*,  discovered 
a  handkerchief  pressed  over  her  eyes  to  hide  the 
tears  she  could  not  restrain. 

As  soon  as  the  count  was  safely  lodged  in  his  own 
dwelling,  the  carriage'proceeded  towards  the  palace, 
which  showed  but  little  apnearance  of  regal  state. 
However  the  mind  of  Pauline  might  have  been  ac- 
customed to  picture  a  court  in  all  the  gay  and 
splendid  colouring  which  youthful  imagination  lead* 
to  anticipated  pleasure,  her  thoughts  were  now  far 
too  fully  occupied  to  admit  of  her  noticing  the  lone- 
ly and  deserted  appearance  of  tlie  scene.  But  to 
Madame  de  Beaumont  it  was  different.  She  who 
remembered  Si.  Germain  in  other  days,  looked  in 
vain  for  the  lights  flashing  from  every  window  of 
the  palace  ;  for  the  servants  hurrying  along  the  dif- 
ferent avenues,  the  sentinels  parading  before  every 
entrance,  and  the  gay  groups  of  courtiers  and  ladies 
in  all  the  brilliant  costume  of  the  time,  who  used  to 


^  RICHELIEU. 

crowd  the  terrace  and  gardens  to  enjoy  the  cool  of 
the  evening  after  the  sun  had  gone  down. 

All  that  she  remembered  had  had  its  day  ;  and  no- 
thing remained  but  silence  and  solitude.  A  single 
sentry  at  the  principal  gate  was  all  that  indicated 
the  dwelling  of  a  king  5  and  it  was  not  till  the  car- 
riage had  passed  under  the  archway,  that  even  an 
attendant  presented  himself  to  inquire  who  were 
the  comers  at  that  late  hour. 

The  principal  domestic  of  Madame  de  Beaumont, 
nho  had  already  descended  from  his  horse,  gave  the 
name  of  his  lady  with  all  ceremony,  and  also  tender- 
ed a  card  (as  he  had  been  instructed  by  the  marchio- 
ness.) on  which  her  style  'hnd  title  were  fully  dis- 
played. The  royal  servant  bowed  low,  saying  that 
the  queen  his  mistress  had  expected  the  marchio- 
ness before;  and  seizing  the  rope  of  a  great  bell, 
which  hung  above  the  staircase,  he  rang  such  a  peal 
that  the  empty  galleries  of  the  palace  returned  a 
kind  of  groaning  echo  to  the  rude  clang  which  seem- 
ed to  mock  their  loneliness. 

Two  or  three  more  servants  appeared  in  answer 
to  the  bells  noisy  summons;  yet  such  was  still  the 
paucity  of  attendants,  that  Madame  de  Beaumont, 
even  while  she  descended  from  her  carriage,  and 
began  to  ascend  the  "  grand  escaliar,''  had  need  to 
look,  from  time  to  time,  at  the  splendid  fresco 
paintings  which  decorated  the  walls,  and  the 
crowns  and  rieurs-de-lis  with  which  all  the  cornices 
were  ornamented,  before  she  could  satisfy  herself 
that  she  really  was  in  the  royal  chateau  of  St.  Ger- 
main. 

Pauline's  eyes,  fixed  on  the  floor,  wandered  little 
to  any  of  the  objects  round,  yet,  perhaps,  the  vast 
spaciousness  of  the  palace,  contrasted  with  the 
scarcity  of  its  inhabitants,  might  cast  even  an  addi- 
tional degree  of  gloom  over  her  mind,  saddened  as 
it  already  was  by  the  occurrences  of  the  day. 
Doubtless,  in  the  remote  parts  of  Languedoc,  where 
Pauline  de  Beaumont  had  hitherto  dwelt,  gay  vi- 


RICHELIEU.  §7 

sions  of  a  court  had  come  floating  upon  imagination 
like  the  lamps  which  tlie  Hindoos  commit  to  the 
waters  of  the  Ganges,  casting  a  wild  and  uncertain 
light  upon  the  distant  prospect}  and  it  is  probable 
that  even  if  St.  Germain  had  possessed  all  its  for- 
mer splendour,  Pauline,  would  still  have  been  dis- 
appointed, for  youthful  imagination  always  outri- 
vals plain  reality  ;  and  besides  there  is  an  unpleas- 
ing  feeling  of  solitude  communicated  by  the  aspect 
of  a  strange  place,  which  detracts  greatly  from  the 
first  pleasure  of  novelty.  Thus  there  were  a  thou- 
sand reasons  why  Mademaiselle  de  Beaumont,  as 
she  followed  the  attendant  through  the  long  empty 
galleries  and  vacant  chambers  of  the  palace  towards 
the  apartments  prepared  for  her  mother  and  herself, 
felt  none  of  those  happy  sensations  which  she  had 
anticipated  from  her  arrival  at  court ;  nor  was  it  till 
on  entering  the  antechamber  of  their  suite  of  rooms, 
she  beheld  the  ga.y  smiling  face  of  her  Lyonaise 
waiting-maid,  that  she  felt  there  was  any  thing  akin 
to  old  recollections  within  those  cold  and  pom- 
pous walls  which  seemed  to  look  upon  her  as  a 
stranger. 

The  soubrette  had  been  sent  forward  the  day  be- 
fore with  a  part  of  the  Marchioness  de  Beaumont's 
equipage;  and  now,  having  endured  a  whole  day's 
comparative  silence  with  the  patience  and  fortitude 
of  a  martyr,  she  advanced  to  the  two  ladies  with 
loquacity  in  her  countenance,  as  if  resolved  to  make 
up,  as  speedily  as  possible,  for  the  restraint  under 
which  her  tongue  had  laboured  during  her  short  so- 
journ in  the  palace  ;  but  the  deep  gravity  of  Madame 
de  Beaumont,  and  the  melancholy  air  of  her  daugh- 
ter, checked  Louise  in  full  career;  so  that,  having 
kissed  her  mistress  on  both  gheeks,  she  paused, 
while  her  lip,  like  an  overfilled  reservoir,  whose 
waters  are  trembling  on  the  very  brink,  seemed 
ready  to  pour  forth  the  torrent  of  words  which  she 
had  so  long  suppressed. 

Pauline,  as  she  passed  through  the  anteroom. 


68  RICHELIETT. 

wiped  the  last  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  on  entering 
the  saloon,  advanced  towards  a  mirror  which  hung 
between  the  windows,  as  if  to  ascertain  what  traces 
they  had  left  behind.  The  soiibrelte  did  not  fail 
to  advance,  in  order  to  adjust  her  young  lady's  dress, 
and  finding  herself  once  more  in  the  exercise  of  her 
functions,  the  right  of  chattering  seemed  equally 
restored;  for  she  commenced  immediately,  begin- 
ning in  a  low  and  respectful  voice,  but  gradually 
increasing  as  the  thought  of  her  mistress  was 
swallowed  up  in  the  more  comprehensive  idea  of 
herself. 

"Oh,  dear  mademoiselle,"  said  she,  "T  am  so 
glad  you  are  come  at  last.  This  place  is  so  sad  and 
so  dull  !  Who  would  thiuk  it  was  a  court  ?  Why,  I 
expected  to  see  it  all  filled  with  lords  and  ladies, 
and  instead  of  that,  I  have  seen  nothing  but  dismal- 
looking  men.  who  go  gliding  about  in  silence,  seem- 
ing afraid  to  open  their  lips,  as  if  that  cruel  old  car- 
dinal, whom  they  all  tremble  at.  could  hear  every 
word  they  say.  I  did  see  one  fine-looking  gentle- 
man this  morning,  to  be  sure,  with  his  servants  all 
in  beautiful  liveries  of  blue  and  gold,  and  horses  as 
if  there  were  fire  coming  out  of  their  very  eyes  ;  but 
he  rode  away  to  hunt,  after  he  had  been  half  an 
hour  with  the  queen  and  Mademoiselle  de  Haute- 
ford,  as  they  call  her." 

"  Mademoiselle  who  ?"  exclaimed  Pauline,  quick- 
ly, as  if  startled  from  her-  revery  by  something 
curious  in  the  name.  "  Who  ^id  you  say, 
Louise  ?■' 

'■Oh,  such  a  pretty  young  lady  1"  replied  the  wait- 
ing-woman. "  Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford  is  her 
name.  1  saw  her  this  morning  as  she  went  to  the 
queen's  levee.  She  has  eyes  as  blue  as  the  sky,  and 
teeth  like  pearls  themselves  ;  but  withal  she  looks 
as  cold  and  as  proud  as  if  she  were  the  queen's  owa 
self" 

While  the  soubrette  spoke,  Pauline  raised  her 
large  dark  eyes  to  the  tall  Venetian  mirror  which 


RICHELIEU.  69 

stood  before  her,  and  which  had  never  reflected  any 
thing  lovelier  than  herself,  as  hastily  she  passed  her 
fair  small  hand  across  her  brow,  brushing  back  tlie 
glossy  ringlets  that  hung  clustering  over  her  fore- 
head. But  she  was  tired  and  pale  with  fatigue  and 
anxiety;  her  eyes,  too,  bore  the  traces  of  tears,  and 
with  a  si<_'h  and  look  of  dissatisfaction,  she  turned 
away  from  the  mirror,  which,  like  every  other  in- 
vention of  human  vanity,  often  procures  us  disap- 
pointment as  well  as  gmtitication. 

Madame  de  Be;>umont's  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon 
Pauline;  and  translating  her  daughter's  looks  with 
the  instinctive  acutenes3  of  a  mother,  she  approach- 
ed with  more  gentleness  than  was  her  wont.  •'  You 
are  beautiful  enough,  my  Pauline, ''said  she.  pressing 
a  kiss  upon  her  cheek  ;  "  you  are  beautiful  enough. 
Do  not  fear."* 

"  Nay,  mamma."  replied  Pauline,  "  I  have  nothing 
to  fear,  either  from  possessing  or  from  wanting 
beauty." 

'*  Thou  art  a  silly  girl,  Pauline."  continued  her 
mother,  "  and  take  these  trifles  far  too  much  to 
heart.  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  concerning  this  same 
picture.  It  was  but  a  random  guess.  Besides, 
even  were  it  true,  where  were  the  mightv  harm? 
These  men  are  all  alike.  Pauline. — like  butterflies, 
they  fest  on  a  thousand  flowers  before  they  settle  on 
any  one.  We  all  fancy  that  our  own  lover  is  dif- 
ferent from  his  fellows  ;  but,  believe  me,  my  child, 
the  best  happiness  a  woman  can  boast,  is  that  of  be- 
ing mnst  carefully  deceived  " 

"Then  no  such  butterfly  love  for  me,  mamma," 
replied  Pauline,  her  cheek  slightly  colouring  as  she 
spoke.  "  I  would  rather  not  know  this  sweet  poison 
— love.  My  heart  is  still  free,  though  my  fancy 
may  have-^have — " 

"  Mav  have  what.  Pauline  ?"  demnnded  her  moth- 
er, with  a  doubtful  smile.  "  My  dear  child,  thy 
heart,  and  thy  fancy,  I  trow,  have  not  been  so  sepa- 
rate  as  thou  thinkest." 


60  RICHELIEU. 

"IVay,  mamma."  answered  Pauline.  "  my  fancy, 
like  an  insect,  may  have  been  caught  in  the  web  of 
a  spider  ;  but  the  enemy  has  not  yet  seized  me,  and 
I  will  break  through  while  I  can." 

'•  But.  first,  let  a^  be  sure  that  we  are  right."  said 
Madame  de  Beaumont.  "  For  as  every  rule  has  its 
exception,  there  be  some  men.  whose  hearts  are 
even  worthy  the  acceptance  of  a  squeamish  girl, 
who,  knowing  nothing  of  the  world,  expecti  to 
meet  with  purity  like  her  own.  At  all  events,  love, 
De  Bleuau  is  the  sou!  of  honour,  and  will  not  stoop 
to  deceit.  In  justice,  you  must  not  judge  without 
hearing  him." 

"  But."  said  Pauline. not  at  all  displeased  with  the 
refutation  of  her  own  ideas,  and  even  wishing,  per- 
iiaps,  to  afford  her  mother  occasion  to  combat  them 
anew. — "  but — '" 

The  sentence,  however,  was  never  destined  to  be 
concluded  ;  for.  as  she  spoke,  the  door  of  the  apart- 
ment opened,  and  a  form  glided  in.  the  appearance 
of  which  instantly  arrested  the  words  on  Pauline's 
lips,  and  made  her  draw  back  with  an  instinctive 
feeling  of  respect. 

The  lady  who  entered  had  passed  that  earlier 
period  of  existence  when  beauties  and  graces  suc» 
ceed  each  other  without  pause,  like  the  flowers  of 
spring,  that  ffo  bloomincr  on  from  the  violet  to  the 
rose.  She  was  in  the  summer  of  life,  but  it  was  the 
early  summer,  untouched  by  autumn  ;  and  her  form, 
though  it  posse  sed  no  longer  the  airy  lightness  of 
youth,  had  acquired  in  dignity  a  degree  of  beauty 
which  compensated  for  the  softer  loveliness  that 
years  had  stolen  away.  Her  brown  hair  fell  in  a 
profusion  of  lar^e  curls  round  a  face,  which,  if  not 
strictly  handsome,  was  highly  pleasing:  and  even 
many  sorrows  and  reverses,  by  mingling  an  expres- 
sion of  patient  melancholy  with  the  gentle  majesty 
of  her  countenance,  produced  a  greater  degree  of 
interest  than  the  Ceatures  could  have  origiMally  ex- 
cited. 


RICHELIEU.  61 

Those  even  who  sought  for  mere  beauty  of  feature, 
would  have  perceived  that  her  eyes  were  quick  and 
fine^  that  her  skin  was  of  the  most  delicate  white- 
ness, except  where  it  was  disfigured  by  the  use  of 
rouge  ;  and  that  her  small  mouth  might  have  served 
as  model  to  a  statuary,  especially  while  her  lips 
arched  with  a  warm  smile  of  pleasure  and  aflection, 
as  advancing  into  the  apartment,  she  pressed 
Madame  de  Beaumont  to  her  bosom,  who  on  her 
part,  bending  low,  received  the  embrace  of  Anne  of 
Austria  with  the  humble  deference  of  a  respectful 
subject  towards  the  condescension  of  their  sove- 
reign. 

"  Once  more  restored  to  me,  my  dear  Madame  de 
Beaumont!"  said  the  queen.  "His  Eminence  of 
Richelieu  does  indeed  give  me  back  one  of  the  best 
of  my  friends — And  this  is  your  Pauline."' — She  add- 
ed, turning  to  Mademoiselle  de  Beaumont,  "  You 
were  but  young,  my  fair  demoiselle,  when  last  I 
saw  you.  You  have  grown  up  a  lovely  flower  from 
a  noble  root  3  but  truly  you  will  never  be  spoiled  by 
splendour  at  our  court."' 

As  she  spoke,  her  mind  seemed  naturally  to  re- 
turn to  other  days,  and  her  eye  fixed  intently  on  the 
ground,  as  if  engaged  in  tracing  out  the  plan  of  her 
past  existence,  running  over  all  the  lines  of  sorrow, 
danger,  and  disappointed  hope,  till  the  task  became 
too  bitter,  and  she  turned  to  the  marchioness  with 
one  of  those  long  deep  sighs,  that  almost  always 
follow  a  review  of  the  days  gone  by,  forming  a  sort 
of  epitaph  to  the  dreams,  the  wishes,  and  the  joys, 
that  once  were  dear,  and  are  no  more. 

'•  When  you  met  me.  De  Beaumont,"  said  the 
queen,  ''with  the  proud  Duke  of  Guise  on  the 
banks  of  the  Bidasoa — quitting  the  kingdom  of  my 
father  and  entering  the  kingdom  of  my  husband — 
with  an  army  for  my  escort,  and  princes  kneeling  at 
my  feet— little,  little  did  ever  you  or  [  think,  that 
Anne  of  Austria,  the  wife  of  a  great  king,  and 
daughter  of  a  long  line  of  monarchs,  would,  in  after 


ea  RICHELIEU. 

years,  be  forced  to  dwell  at  St.  Germain,  without 
guards,  without  court,  without  attendants,  but  such 
as  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu  chooses  to  allow  her. 
— Tne  Cardinal  de  Richelieu  I'  she  proceeded, 
thougiilfuUy  ;  "  the  servant  of  my  husband  I — but  no 
less  the  master  of  his  master,  and  the  king  of  his 
king." 

'•  1  can  assure  your  majesty,"  replied  Madame  de 
Beaumont,  with  a  deep  lone  of  feeling  which  iiad 
no  hypocrisy  in  it,  for  her  whole  heart  was  bound 
by  habit,  principle,  and  inclination  to  her  royal  mis- 
tress— "  I  can  assure  your  majesty,  that  many  a 
tear  have  1  shed  over  the  sorrows  of  my  queen  ; 
and  when  his  eminence  drove  me  from  tlie  court,  I 
regretted  not  the  splendour  of  a  palace,  1  regretted 
not  the  honour  of  serving  my  sovereigrt,  1  regretted 
not  the  friends  I  left  behind,  or  the  hopes  I  lost, 
but  1  regretted  that  1  couid  not  be  the  sharer  of  my 
mistress's  misfortunes. — But  your  majesty  has  now 
received  a  blessing  from  Heaven,''  she  continued, 
willing  to  turn  the  conversation  from  the  troubled 
course  of  memory  to  the  more  agreeable  channels 
ofiiope — ■•  a  blessing  which  we  scarcely  dreamed 
of,  a  consolation  under  all  present  sorrows,  and  a 
bright  prospect  for  the  years  to  come." 

"Oh,  yes,  my  little  Louis,  you  would  say,"  re- 
plied the  queen,  her  face  lightening  with  all  a 
mother's  joy  as  she  spoke  of  her  son.  "  He  is  in- 
deed a  cherub  5  and  sure  am  I,  that  if  God  sends 
him  years,  he  will  redress  his  mother's  wrongs  by 
proving  the  greatest  of  his  race." 

She  spoke  of  the  famous  Louis  the  Fourteenth, 
and  some  might  have  thought  she  prophesied.  But 
it  was  only  the  fervour  of  a  mother's  hope,  an  ebuli- 
tion  of  that  pure  feeling,  which  alone,  of  all  the 
affections  of  the  heart,  liie  most  sordid  poverty  can- 
not destroy,  and  the  proudest  rank  can  hardly 
check. 

"  He  is  indeed  a  cherub,"  continued  the  queen  ; 
"  and  such  was  your  Pauline  to  you,  De  Beaumont, 


RICHELIEU.  «3 

when  the  cardinal  drove  you  from  my  side  :  a  con- 
Bolation  not  only  in  your  exile,  but  also  in  your 
mourning  for  your  noble  lord.  Come  near,  young 
lady;  let  me  see  if  thou  art  like  thy  Aither." 

Pauline  approached  ;  and  the  queen  laying  her 
hand  gently  upon  her  arm,  ran  her  eye  rapidly  over 
her  face  and  hgure,  every  now  and  then  pausing  for 
a  moment,  and  seeming  to  call  memory  to  her  aid, 
in  the  comparison  she  was  making  between  the 
dead  and  the  living.  But  suddenly  she  started  back, 
"  Sainte  Vierge  .'"  cried  she,  crossing  herself, "'  your 
dress  is  all  dabbled  with  blood.  What  bad  omen  is 
this  V 

"  May  it  please  your  majesty,"  said  the  marchoi- 
ness,  half  smiling  at  the  queen's  superstition,  for  her 
own  strong  mind  rejected  many  of  the  errors  of  the 
day,  '•  that  blood  is  only  an  omen  of  Pauline's  char- 
itable disposition  ;  for  in  the  forest  hard  by,  we 
came  up  with  a  wounded  cavalier,  and,  like  a  true 
demoiselle  arrante,  Pauline  rendered  him  personal 
aid,  even  at  the  expense  of  her  robe." 

"  JN'ay,  nay,  De  Beaumont,"  said  the  queen,  "it 
matters  not  how  it  came  ;  it  is  a  bad  omen  :  some 
misfortune  is  about  to  happen.  I  remember  the  day 
before  my  father  died,  the  Conde  de  Saldana  came 
to  court  with  a  spot  of  blood  upon  the  lace  of  his 
cardinal  ;  and  on  that  fatal  day  which — '' 

The  door  of  the  apartment  at  this  moment  open- 
ed, and  Anne  of  Austria,  filled  with  her  own  pecu- 
liar superstition,  stopped  in  the  midst  of  her  speech, 
and  turned  her  eye  anxiously  towards  it,  as  if  she 
expected  the  coming  of  some  ghastly  apparition. 
The  figure  that  entered,  however,  though  it  possess- 
ed a  dignity  scarcely  earthly,  and  a  calm  still  grace 
— an  almost  inanimate  composure,  rarely  seen  in 
beings  agitated  by  human  passions,  was  neverthe- 
less no  form  calculated  to  inspire  alarm. 

"Oh,  Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford !"  cried  the 
queen,  her  face  brightening  as  she  spoke,  "  De 
Beanmont,  you  will  love  her,  for  that  she  is  one  of 
my  firmest  friends." 


64  RICHELIEU. 

At  the  name  of  De  Hauteford,  Pauline  drew  up 
her  slight  elegant  figure  to  its  full  height,  with  a 
wild  start,  like  a  deer  suddenly  frightened  by  some 
distant  sound,  and  drawing  her  hand  across  her  fore- 
head, brushed  back  the  two  or  three  dark  curls, 
which  hnd  again  fallen  over  her  clear  fair  brow. 

"  De  Hauteford  I"  cried  Anne  of  Austria,  as  the 
young  lady  advanced,  "  what  has  happened  ?  You 
look  pale — some  evil  is  abroad."' 

"  1  would  noi  have  intruded  on  your  majesty,  or 
on  these  ladies,"'  said  Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford, 
with  a  g:raceful  but  cold  inclination  of  the  head  to- 
wards the  strangers,  "  had  it  not  been  that  Monseiur 
Seguin,  your  majesty's  surgeon,  requests  the  favour 
of  an  audience  immediately.  Nor  does  he  wish  to 
be  seen  by  the  common  attendants;  in  trulh,  he  has 
followed  me  to  the  antechamber,  where  he  waits 
your  majesty's  pleasure." 

"  Admit  him,  admit  him  !"  cried  the  queen. 
"  What  can  he  want  at  this  hour  ?" 

The  surgeon  was  instantly  brought  into  the  pre- 
sence of  the  queen  by  Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford  j 
but,  after  approaching  his  royal  mistress  with  a  pro- 
found bow,  he  remained  in  silence  glancing  his  eye 
towards  the  strangers  who  stood  in  the  apartment, 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  intimate  that  his  communica- 
tion required  to  be  made  in  private. 

"  Speak,  speak.  Seguin  I"'  cried  the  queen,  trans- 
lating his  lo(  k  and  answering  it  at  once;  "these 
are  all  friends,  old  and  dear  friends." 

'•  If  such  be  your  majesty's  pleasure,"  replied  the 
surgeon,  with  that  sf>rt  of  short  dry  voice,  which 
generally  denotes  a  man  of  few  words,  "  I  must  in- 
form you  at  once,  that  youn?  Count  de  Blenau  has 
been  this  morning  attacked  by  robbers,  while  hunt- 
ing in  the  forest,  and  is  severely  hurt." 

While  Seguin  communicated  this  intelligence, 
Pauline  (she  scarce  knew  why.)  fixed  her  eye  upon 
Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford,  whose  clear  pale 
cheek,  ever  almost  of  the  hue  of  alabaster,  showed 
that  it  could  become  still  paler.      The  queen  too, 


niCHELTEir.  ^1 

though  the  rouge  she  wore  concealed  any  change 
of  complexion,  appeared  manifestly  agitated.  "  I 
told  you  so,  Ue  Beauuiosil/'  she  exclaimed — "  that 
blood  foreboded  evil  :  1  never  knew  the  sign  to 
fail.  This  is  bad  news  truly,  Seguin,"  she  con- 
tinued. "Poor  De  Bienau !  surely  be  will  not 
die." 

"I  hope  not,  madam/' replied  the  surgeon  j  "  1  se6 
every  chance  i>f  his  recovery." 

"  But  speak  more  freely,"  said  the  queen.  "  Have 
you  learned  any  thing  from  him  ?  These  are  all 
friends,  1  tell  you." 

"  The  count  is  very  weak,  madam,"  answered 
Seguin,  "  both  from  loss  of  blood  and  a  stunning 
blow  on  the  head  ;  but  he  desired  me  to  tell  your 
majesty,  that  though  the  wound  is  in  his  side,  his 
heart  is  uninjured  1" 

'•  Oh,  I  understand,  I  understand,"  exclaimed 
the  queen.  '•  De  Bienau  is  one  out  of  a  thousand  : 
1  must  write  him  a  note  ;  follow  me,  Seguin.— 
Good  night,  dear  Madame  de  Beaumont.  Fare- 
well, Pauline!  —  Come  to  my  levee  to-morrow, 
and  we  vvill  talk  over  old  stories  and  new  hopes.— 
But  have  a  care,  Pauline — No  more  blood  upon 
your  robe.  It  is  a  bad  sign  in  the  house  of  Aus- 
tria." 

The  moment  tlie  queen  was  gone,  Pauline  plead- 
ed fitigue,  and  retired  to  her  chamber,  followed  by 
her  mnid  Louise,  who,  be  it  remarked,  had  remain- 
ed in  the  room  during  the  royi  visit. 

"This  is  a  strange  place,  this  St.  Germain," 
said  the  waiting-woman,  as  she  undressed  her  mis- 
tress. 

"  It  is  indeed  '."  replied  Pauline.     "I  wish  I  had 
never  seen  it.     But  of  one  thing  let  me  warn  y«u, 
Louise,  before   it  is  too  late.      Never  repeat  any 
thing  y.)U  may  see  or  hear,  while  you  are  at  th 
court  j   for   if  you    do,  vour  life    may  answer   fc 
it." 

roL.  I.  5 


^Q  RICHELIEU. 

"  My  life  !  Mademoiselle  Pauline,"  exclaimed  the 
soubretle,  as  if  she  doubled  her  ears. 

"  Yes  indeed,  your  life  !"  replied  llie  young  lady  : 
"  So  beware.'" 

"  Then  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  the  place  eith- 
er," rejoined  the  maid  ;  '•  for  what  the  use  of  see- 
ing and  hearing  things,  if  one  may  not  talk  about 
them  ? — and  who  can  be  always  watching  one's 
tongue  V 


RICHELIEU.  67 


CHAPTER  V. 


A  Chapter  of  mighty  import,  wliich  may  he  read  or  not,  as 
the  Ueader  thinks  tit,  the  Book  heiiig  quite  as  well  with- 
out it. 

With  the  happy  irregularity  of  all  tnje  stories,  we 
must  return,  for  a  moment,  to  a  very  insigniticant 
person, — Ihe  woodman  of  Mantes.  Indeed,  I  have 
to  beg  my  reader's  p;irdoii  for  saying  so  much  about 
any  one  under  the  rank  of  a  chevalier  at  least ;  but 
all  through  this  most  untractable  of  all  histories,  I 
have  been  pestered  with  a  set  of  shabby  fellows  in 
very  indifferent  circumstances.  Woodcutters,  rob- 
bers, gentlemen's  servants,  and  tlie  like,  who  make 
themselves  so  abominably  useful,  that  though  we 
wish  them  at  the  devil  all  the  time,  we  can  do  no 
way  without  them.  Let  the  sin  not  be  attributed 
to  me  ;  for  I  declare,  upon  my  conscience,  that  when 
first  1  undertook  to  record  this  tale,  1  atteii«'>ted  a 
thorough  reform;  1  superseded  a  great  number  of 
subordinate  characters,  put  others  upon  the  retired 
list,  and  dismissed  a  great  many  as  useless  sinecu- 
rists  ;  but  when  [  had  done,  all  was  in  confusion; 
and  then,  after  considering  matters  for  half  an  hour, 
and  turning  over  a  page  or  two  in  the  book  of  na- 
ture, I  found,  that  the  most  brilliant  actions  and  the 
greatest  events  were  generally  brought  about  from 
the  meanest  motives  and  most  petty  causes:  I  per- 
ceived, that  women  and  valets  de-chambre  govern 
the  world  :  I  found  tiiat  saur-kraut  had  disagreed 
with  Sirah  Ducliess  of  Marlborough,  made  her  in- 
solent to  Queen  Anne,  made  Qoeen  Anne  threaten 
to  box  her  eirs,  made  England  resign  her  advantages 
over  to  France — placed  the  Bourbon  dynasty  on  the 
throne  of  Spain,  and  changed  the  face  of  Europe 


68  RICilELItF. 

even  to  the  present  day.  So.  if  saur-kraat  did  all 
this,  surely  I  may  return  to  Philip,  the  woodman  of 
Mantes. 

Ciiavigni,  as  we  have  seen,  cast  his  purse  upon 
the  tzround,  and  rode  away  Jrora  the  cottage  of  the 
woodman,  little  heeding  what  so  insignificant  an 
agent  might  do  or  siy.  Yet  Piiilip's  Hr^t  thought 
was  one  wliich  would  have  procured  him  speedy 
adnussion  to  the  Baslilie,  had  Ciiavigni  been  able 
to  divine  its  nature.  ••  The  young  count  shall  know 
all  about  it,"  said  Philip  to  himself.  "  That's  a  great 
rogue  in  Isabel  and  silver,  for  all  his  fine  clotlies,  or 
I'm  much  mistaken." 

His  next  object  of  attention  was  the  purse  ;  and 
after  various  pros  and  cons  Inclination,  the  best  logi- 
cian in  the  world,  reasoned  him  into  taking  it. 
'•  For,  '  said  Pbilip,  ••dirty  fingers  soil  no  gold;'"  and 
having  carefully  put  it  into  his  pouch,  the  woodman 
laid  his  finger  upon  the  side  of  his  nose,  and  plung- 
ed headlong  into  a  deep  meditation  concerning  the 
best  and  least  suspicious  metliod  of  informing  the 
young  Count  de  Blenau  of  all  he  had  seen,  heard, 
or  suspected.  We  will  not  follo\y  the  course  of 
this  cogitation,  whicli.  as  it  doubtless  took  place  in 
the  French  tongue,  must  necessarily  sutler  by  trans- 
lation, but  taking  a  shortcut  straight  through  all  the 
zigzags  of  Philip's  mind,  arrive  directly  at  the  con- 
clusi(m,  or  rather  at  the  consequences,  which  were 
these.  In  the  first  place,  he  commanded  his  son 
Charles  to  load  the  n^ule  with  wood,  notwithstand- 
ing the  boy's  oUservalion.  that  no  one  would  buy 
wood  at  that  time  of  the  morning,  or  rather  the 
night ;  for,  to  mike  use  of  Shakspeare's  language, 
the  morn,  far  from  being  yet  clad  in  any  russet 
mantle,  was  snu_dv  wrapped  up  in  the  blanket  of 
the  dark,  and  snoring  away,  fast  asleep,  like  her 
betters. 

Precisely  in  the  same  situation  as  Aurora,  that  is 
to  say,  soundly  sleeping,  till  her  ordinary  hour  of 
risin.r.  was  Joan,  the  woodman's  wife.  Philip,  how- 
ever, by  sundry  eft'orts,  contrived  to  awaken  her   t'.i 


RICHELIEU.  (59 

a  sense  of  external  things;  and  perceiving  that, 
after  vnrious  yawns  and  stretches,  her  mind  had  ar- 
rived at  the  point  of  compreiiending  a  sinj[)lc  pro- 
position, "Get  up,  Joan,  (:et  up!"  cried  he.  "I 
want  you  to  wriie  a  letter  for  me  ;  writing  being  a 
gilt  that,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  1  do  not  pos- 
sess." 

'{'he  wife  readily  obeyed;  for  Philip,  though  as 
kind  as  the  airol  sprina.had  a  high  notion  of  marital 
privileges,  and  did  not  often  suffer  his  conuuands  to 
be  disputed  within  his  little  sphere  of  dominion. 
However,  it  seemed  a  sort  of  tenue  by  which  his 
sway  was  held,  that  Joan,  his  wife,  should  share  in 
all  his  secrets;  and  accordingly,  in  the  present  in- 
stance, the  good  woodman  related  in  somewhat 
prolix  style,  not  only  all  that  had  passed  between 
Chavigni  and  Lafemas  in  the  house,  but  much  of 
what  they  had  saiil  before  they  even  knocked  at  his 
door. 

•'For  you  must  know.  Joan,"  said  lie,  "that  I 
could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of  all  this  days  bad 
W(jrk  ;  and,  as  I  lay  awake.  I  heard  horses  stop  at 
the;  water,  and  people  speakinir,  and  very  soon  what 
tiiey  said  made  me  wish  to  lienr  more,  which  I  did, 
as  I  have  told  you.  And  now.  Joan  1  think  it  right, 
as  a  Christian  and  a  man.  to  let  tiiis  joung  cavalier 
know  what  they  are  plotting  against  him.  So  sit 
thee  ^own  :  here  is  a  pen  and  ink.  and  a  plain  sheet 
out  of  the  boy's  holy  catechism. — God  forgive  me! 
But  it  could  not  go  to  a  better  use." 
•  It  n»atters  not  much  to  tell  all  the  various  consid- 
erations wiiich  were  vveighed  and  discussed  by  Phil- 
ip and  his  wife  in  the  construction  of  this  epistle. 
Suffice  it  to  s.ay.  that  like  two  unskilful  players  at 
batiiedoor  and  shuttlecock,  they  bandied  backwards 
and  forwards  the  same  objections  a  thousand  limes 
between  them,  for  ever  letting  them  drop,  and  tak- 
ing them  up  again  anew,  till  such  time  as  day  was 
well  risen  before  they  Hnished.  JNeilher  would  it 
much  edify  the  world,  in  all  probability,  to  know 
the  exact  style  and  tenor  of  the  composition  wh§a 


70  RlCHELIIiU. 

it  was  complete,  although  Philip  heard  his  wife  read 
it  over  with  no  small  satisfaction,  and  doubtless 
thouglit  it  as  pretty  a  piece  of  oratorv  as  ever  was 
penned. 

It  is  now  unfortunately  lost  to  the  public,  and  all 
that  can  be  satisfactorily  vouched  upon  the  subject 
is.  that  it  was  cilcijlated  to  convey  to  the  Coiiiit  de 
Blenau  all  the  iii{'orni;itio!i  which  tlie  woodcutter 
possessed,  although  that  information  might  be  cloth- 
ed in  homely  language,  without  much  perfection, 
either  iti  writing  <>r  ortliogr.iphy. 

When  it  had  been  reail.  and  re-read,  and  twisted 
up  according  to  the  best  conceit  of  the  ^ood  couple, 
it  was  entrusted  to  Chirles,  the  woo<lmans  boy, 
with  many  acharge  and  direction  concerning  its  de- 
livery. For  his  part,  glad  of  a  days  sport,  he  readi- 
ly undertook  the  tas.k.  and  «lriving  the  laden  mule 
before  hmi,  set  out,  whistling  on  his  way.  to  St. 
Germain's.  He  had  not.  however,  proceeded  far, 
when  he  was  overtuken  by  Philip  with  new  direc- 
tions; the  principal  one  heing  to  say,  if  any  one 
shouM  actually  see  him  deliver  the  note,  and  make 
inquiries,  iliat  it  came  from  a  lady.  "  For."  said 
Philip.  —  and  he  Ihoujht  the  observation  was  a 
shrewed  one,  —  "so  handsome  a  youth  as  the" 
young  count  must  have  many  ladies  who  white  to 
him.'' 

Charles  did  not  very  well  comprehend  what  it 
was  all  about,  but  he  w.ns  well  enough  contented  to 
serve  the  young  count,  who  had  given  him  many  a 
kind  word  and  a  piece  of  silver,  when  the  hunting 
parlies  of  the  court  hnd  stopped  to  water  their  hor- 
ses at  the  abreuvoir.  The  boy  was  diligent  and  ac- 
tive, and  soon  reached  .St.  Germain.  His  next  task 
was  to  Hnd  out  the  lodging  of  the  Count  de  Blenau  : 
and,  after  looking  about  for  some  lime,  he  address- 
ed himself,  for  information,  to  a  stout,  jovial-look- 
ing servaTjt.  who  was  Bannterinj  down  the  street, 
gazing  about  at  the  various  hotels,  with  a  look  of 
easy  no7%chaiwice,  as  if  idleness  was  his  employ- 
ment 


RICHELIEU.  ft 

*'  Why  do  you  ask,  my  boy  V  demanded  the  man, 
without  answering  iiis  question. 

''  1  want  to  sell  my  wood,"'  replied  the  woodman's 
son.  remembering  that  his  errand  was  to  be  private. 
"  Where  does  he  lodge,  good  sir  ?"' 

"  Why,  the  count  does  not  buy  wood  in  this  hot 
weather."  rejoined  the  other. 

"  I  should  suppose  the  count  does  not  buy  wood, 
himself,  at  all,"  replied  the  boy,  putting  the  ques- 
tion aside  with  all  the  shrewdness  of  a  French 
peasant;  "but,  perhaps,  his  cook  wil." 

'•  Suppose  I  buy  your  wood,  my  man,"  said  the 
servant. 

"  Why,  you  are  very  welcome,  sir,"  answered  the 
youth  ;  '"but  if  you  do  not  want  it,  I  pray  you,  in 
honesty,  show  me  which  is  the  Count  de  Blenau's 
hotel."' 

"  Well,  1  will  show  thee,"  said  the  servant  ;  "  1 
am  e"en  goin":  thither  myself,  on  the  part  of  the 
Marquise  de  Bsaumont,  to  ask  after  the  young 
count  3  health." 

'  Oil,  then,  you  are  one  of  those  who  were  with 
the  carriage  veslerday,  when  he  was  wounded  in 
the  wood,"  excliiiued  the  boy.  "Now  ]  remember 
your  colours.  Were  you  not  one  of  those  on  horse- 
back?" 

"  Even  so,"  answered  the  man  ;  "  and  if  I  forgot 
not.  thnu  art  the  woodmm's  boy.  But  come,  prithee, 
tell  us  what  is  thy  real  errand  with  the  count.  We 
are  all  his  friends,  you  know;  and  selling  him  the 
wood  is  all  a  tale." 

The  boy  thou'^ht  for  a  moment,  to  determine 
whetherjie  should  tell  the  man  all  he  knew  or  not ; 
but  remembering  the  answer  his  father  had  furnish- 
ed him  with,  he  replied,  '-The  truth  then  is,  I  carry 
him  a  note  from  a  lady." 

"  Oh.  ho  !  my  little  Mercury  !"  cried  the  servant  ; 
*'  so  you  are  as  close  with  vour  secrets  as  if  you 
were"  an  older  politician.  This  i«  the  way  you  sell 
wood,  is  it  V 


78  RICHELIEU, 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  by  Mercury,"  re- 
joined the  boy. 

"  Why  he  was  a  great  man  in  his  day,''  replied 
the  servant,  '-and,  as  I  take  it,  used  to  c  me  and  go 
between  the  gods  and  goddesses  ;  notwi.h^tanding 
which.  Monsieur  Rubens,  who  is  the  greatest  painter 
that  ever  lived,  has  painted  this  same  Mercury  as 
one  of  the  late  queens*  council;  but  nevertheless  he 
waa  a  carrier  ol  nussages,  and  so  lorth."' 

"  Why,  then,  tiiou  art  more  Mercury  than  I,  for 
thou  carriest  a  message,  and  I  a  letter,"  answered 
the  boy,  as  they  approached  the  hotel  ot'  the  count, 
towards  which  they  had  been  beniling  their  steps 
during  this  conversation,  'i'lscir  proximity  to  his 
awelling,  in  all  probability,  saved  the  woodman's 
8on  from  an  angry  answer;  for  his  companion  did 
not  seem  at  ail  pleased  with  iiaving  the  name  of 
Mercury  retorted  upon  himselfj  and  intending 
Strongly  to  impress  Ufxm  the  woodman's  boy  that  he 
was  a  person  of  far  too  great  c(mse(|uence  to  be 
jested  with,  lie  assumed  a  tone  of  double  pom- 
posity towards  the  servant  who  ap|»eared  on  the 
steps  of  the  hotel.  "Tell  Henry  de  la  Moihe,  the 
count's  p^ge,"  said  the  servant,  "  that  the  Marquise 
de  Beaumont  has  sent  to  inquire  after  his  master's 
health." 

The  servant  retired  with  the  message,  and  in  a 
moment  after  Henry  de  la  Mothe  himself  appear- 
ed, and  informed  the  messenger  that  his  master  was 
greatly  better.  He  had  slept  well,  he  said,  during 
the  night  5  and  his  surgeons  assured  him  that  the 
wounds  which  he  had  received  were  likely  to  pro- 
duce no  farther  harm  than  the  weakness  naturally 
consequent  upon  so  great  a  loss  of  blood  as  that 
which  he  had  sustained.  Having  given  this  mes- 
sage on  his  master's  account,   Henry,  on  his  own, 

*  Alliiilini^,  no  doutii,  lo  tin-  pxiiiM-  c>(  ilie  r-  cuiicilindoii  of 
Mary  de  Medicis  and  her  son  Louis  Xlll,  in  wliicli  Mercury 
•eemi  hand  in  glove  with  the  cardiiiaU  and  slalesaien  of  the 


RICHELIEU,  73 

begnn  tn  question  the  servant  concerning  many  lit- 
tle particulars  of  liis  own  family  ;  his  fali.er  being, 
as  already  said,  Fermicr  to  iMai«anie  tie  Beaumont. 

Charles,  the  woodman's  son.  perceiving  that  the 
conversation  had  turned  to  a  subject  loo  interesting 
soon  t«)  be  discussed,  glided  past  the  marchioness's 
servant,  placed  the  note  lie  carried  in  the  hand  of 
tiie  count's  page,  pressed  liis  finger  on  his  lip,  m  sign 
that  it  was  to  be  given  privately,  and  detaching 
himself  from  them,  without  waiting  to  be  question- 
ed, drove  back  his  mule  through  the  least  known 
parts  of  the  ft>rest,  and  rendered  an  account  to  his 
father  of  the  surcess  of  his  expedition. 

"  Who  can  that  noie  be  from  /"  said  the  Marchio- 
ness de  Beaumont's  servant  to  Henry  de  LaMothe. 
"  Tlie  boy  tcdd  me  it  came  from  a  lady." 

"  From  Mademo'rselle  de  Hautefurd,  probably,'" 
replied  the  page,  thoughtfully.  "  I  must  give  it  to 
my  master  without  delay,  if  he  be  strong  enough  to 
read  it.  We  will  talk  more  anotlier  day,  good 
friend  ;"  and  he  left  him. 

"  From  Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford  !"  said  the 
man  '-Oh,  hoi'' — and  he  went  home  to  tell  all  he 
knew  to  Louise,  the  soubrette. 


74  RICHELIEU. 


CHAPTER  Vr. 


The  M'jrqiiis  He  Cinq  Mars,  the  Count  de  Fonlr;iille»,  and 
Kiii^  Loiii;  tlie  i'liiiieenth,  all  making  I'uois  ot°  theiusi-ives 
in  llieii  o\sm  way. 

There  are  sorae  spots  on  the  earth  which  seem 
marked  out  as  tlie  scene  of  exlriordiuary  events, 
and  wliich.  withnut  any  peculiar  beaulv.  or  otiier  in- 
trinsic quality  to  recommend  ihem.  acquire  a  tran- 
scendent interest,  as  tiie  theatre  of  grett  actions. 
Such  is  CliantiJly,  tlie  history  of  whose  walls  nii^^ht 
furnish  many  a  lay  to  the  poet,  and  many  a  moral  to 
the  sage  ;  and  even  now,  by  its  magnificence  and  its 
decay,  it  offers  a  new  comment  on  thu  vanity  of 
splendour,  and  proves,  by  the  forgotten  ^re  itness  of 
its  lords,  how  the  waves  of  time  are  the  true  waters 
of  oblivion. 

But  that  as  it  may,  Montmorency,  Conde,  are 
names  so  woven  in  the  web  of  liistorv,  that  nothing 
can  tear  them  out.  and  the^e  were  the  lords  ofCiian- 
tilly.  But  among  all  that  its  roof  has  sheltered,  no 
one,  perhaps,  is  more  worthy  of  notice  than  Louis 
the  'J'hirleenth  :  the  son  of  Henry  the  Fourth,  and 
Mary  de  Medicis.  born  to  an  inheritance  of  high 
talents  and  hiirh  fortune,  with  the  inspiring  incite- 
ment of  a  fathers  glory,  and  the  powerful  support 
of  a  people's  love. 

It  is  said  that  circumstance — that  stumbling-block 
of  great  minds-that  con'ounder  of  deep-laid  schemes 
— tiial  little,  miirlity,  unseen  controller  of  all  man's 
actions,  should  find  pleasure  in  bending  to  its  will, 
that  wliich  .Nature  oriainallv  seemed  to  place  above 
its  sway.  Endued  with  all  tiie  qu  dities  a  throne  re- 
quires, brave,  wise,  clear-sig«.ted,  and  generous; 
with  his  mother's  taieots  and  his  father's  courage, 


RICHELIEU.  75 

the  events  of  his  early  life  quelled  every  effort  of 
Louis's  mind,  ami  left  him  but  the  slave  of  an  ambi- 
tious minisier!  a  monarch  but  innnme  I  the  shadow 
of  a  king  !  How  it  was  s«),  matters  not  to  this  history 
— it  is  recorded  on  a  more  eloquent  page.  But  at 
the  time  of  my  tale,  the  brighter  part  of  life  had 
pissed  away  from  King  Louis  ;  and  now  that  it  had 
fallen  into  tiie  sear,  he  seemed  lo  have  given  it  up 
as  unworthy  a  farther  effort.  He  struggled  not  even 
f  >r  that  appearance  of  royal  state  which  his  proud 
minister  was  unwilling  to  allow  him;  and,  retired 
al  Chantilly,  pissed  his  time  in  a  thousand  weak 
amusements,  which  but  served  to  hurry  by  the  mo- 
ments of  a  void  and  weary  existence. 

It  was  at  this  tiine.that  the  first  news  of  the  Car- 
dinal da  Ri cfielieu' s  \\\ness  began  to  be  noi:>ed  abroad. 
His  health  hid  long  been  declining;  but  so  feared 
was  that  redoutable  minister,  that  though  many  re- 
mirke<l  the  increased  liollovvness  of  his  dark  eye, 
and  the  deepening  lines  upon  his  pale  cheeck,  no 
one  dared  to  wliisper  what  miny  hoped — that  the 
tyrant  of  both  king  ami  people  was  falling  under  the 
sway  of  a  still  stronger  hand. 

Tlie  morning  was  yet  in  its  prime.  The  gray  mist 
had  hardly  rolled  away  from  the  old  towers  and  bat- 
tlements of  the  Chitsau  of  Chantilly,  which,  unlike 
the  elegant  building  afterward  erected  on  the  same 
spot,  offered  then  little  but  strong  fortified  walls  and 
turrets.  The  heavy  night-dew  lay  still  sparkling  up- 
on the  long  grass  in  the  avenues  of  the  park,  when 
two  gemleman  were  observed  walking  near  the 
palace,  turning  up  and  down  the  alley,  then  called 
the  -Avenue  de  Luzirches,  with  that  kind  of  saunter- 
ing pace  which  indicated  their  conversation  to  be 
of  no  very  interestinij  description. 

Perhaps,  in  all  that  vast  variety  of  shapes  which 
nature  his  bestowed  uoon  mankind,  ami  in  all  those 
innate  differences  bv  which  she  has  discin/uished 
mans  soul,  no  two  figures  or  two  minds  could  have 
been  found  more  opposite  than  those  of  the  two  men 
thus  keeping  a  willing  companionship— the   Count 


•JQ  RlCiit'.UKU. 

di  Fonirailles,  and  the  Marquis  de  Cinq  Mars,  Grand 
Ecuyer,  or.  as  it  mny  be  best  traiibluled,  uiasler  of 
llie  bnrse. 

(-iuq  Mars,  though  consi«lerably  above  the  com- 
mon lieigbt  of  men,  was  formed  in  the  most  finish- 
ed and  eleiiant  proporlion,  and  pnssessed  a  native 
dignity  of  demeanour,  wliich  cliaracterized  even 
those  wild  gesticulations  in  wbicli  the  excess  of  a 
bright  and  enliiusiaslic  ni  nd  often  led  liim  to  in- 
dulge. 

0:i  llie  other  hand,  Fonirailles.  short  in  stature, 
and  mean  in  appearance,  vviis  in  countenan(!e  equal- 
ly unprepossessing.  He  liad  but  one  redeeming 
feature,  in  the  quick  gray  eye.  that,  with  the  clear 
keenness  of  its  ligiil,  seemed  to  penetrate  the  deep- 
est tlioughts  of  those  upon  whom  it  was  turned. 

Such  is  the  description  thai  iiistory  yields  of  these 
two  celebrated  men  ;  and  I  wdl  own  that  my  han- 
kering alter  physiognomy  has  induced  me  to  tran- 
scribe it  here,  inasmuch  as  the  mind  of  each  was 
like  his  person. 

In  die  lt€;irt  of  Cmq  Mars  dwelt  a  proud  nobility 
of  spirit,  which,  however  he  might  be  carried  away 
by  the  fiery  passion  of  his  nature,  ever  dignified  his 
actions  with  sonietinng  of  great  and  generous.  But 
tiie  soul  of  Fonirailles.  ambitious,  yet  mean,  wanted 
all  the  wild  ardour  ol  ids  companion,  but  v\ anted 
also  all  his  better  qualities  ;  possessing  alone  that 
clear,  piercing  discerimient,  which,  more  like  in- 
stinct than  judgment,  showed  him  always  the  exact 
moment  of  danger,  and  pointed  out  the  means  of 
safety. 

And  yet,  though  not  friends,  they  were  often  (as 
I  have  said)  companions;  for  Cinq  Mars  was  too 
r.oble  to  suspect,  and  Fonirailles  loo  wary  to  be 
known — besides,  in  the  present  instance,  he  had  a 
poia.t  to  carrv.  and  therefore  was  doubly  disguised. 
•  You  have  heard  the  news,  doubtless,  Cinq 
JNIars,''  said  Fontrailles,  leading  the  way  from  the 
great  Avenue  de  Luzarches  into  one  of  the  smaller 
alleys,  where  they  were  lets  liable  to  be  watched; 


RICHELIEU,  77 

for  he  well  knew  that  the  conversation  he  thua 
bronohed  would  lead  to  those  wild  starts  and  aestures 
in  his  companion,  whicli  mis^lit  call  upon  them  some 
suspicion,  if  observed.  Cinq  Mars  made  no  reply, 
and  he  proceeded.  "  The  cardinal  is  ill  !''  and  he 
fixed  his  eye  upon  the  master  of  the  horse,  as  if  he 
would  search  his  soul.  But  Cinq  Mars  still  was 
silent,  and  apparently  deeply  busied  with  other 
thoughts,  continued  beating  tlie  sbrubs  on  each  side 
of  the  path  with  his  sheathed  s-\vord.  without  even 
a  glance  towards  his  companion.  After  a  moment 
or  two,  however,  he  raised  his  head  with  an  air  of 
careless  abstraction  :  "  What  a  desert  this  place  has 
become !"  said  he  ;  ''  look  how  all  these  have  grown 
up,  between  the  trees.  One  might  really  be  as  well 
in  a  forest  as  a  royal  park  now-a-days.'' 

"  But  you  have  made  me  no  answer,"  rejoined 
Fontrailles,  returning  perseveringty  to  tbe  point  on 
which  his  companion  seemed  unwilling  to  touch  : 
"  1  said  the  cardinal  is  ill." 

**  Well,  well  !  I  hear,"  answered  C?inq  ^lars,  with 
a  peevisb  start,  like  a  restive  horse  forced  forward 
on  a  road  he  is  unwilling  to  take.  "  What  is  it  you 
would  have  me  say  ?  That  1  am  sorry  for  it  7  Well 
be  it  so — 1  am  sorry  for  it — sorry  thai  a  trifl'n'j;  sick- 
ness, which  will  pass  away  in  a  moon,  should  give 
France  hopes  of  that  liberation,  which  is  Act  far 
off." 

".But,  nevertheless,  you  would  be  sorry  were  this 
great  man  to  die,"  saLd  Fontrailles,  putting  it  half 
as  a  question,  half  as  an  undoubted  proposition,  and 
looking  in  the  fice  of  the  marquis,  with  an  appear- 
ance ol  hesitating  uncertainty. 

C'inq  Mars  could  contain  himself  no  more. 
"What!"  cried  he,  vehemently,  "sorry  for  the 
peace  of  the  world  ! — sorry  for  the  weal  of  my 
country  ! — sorry  for  the  liberty  of  my  king!  Why, 
1  tell  thee.  Fontrailles,  should  the  Cardinal  de 
Richelieu  die.  the  people  of  France  would  join  in 
pulling  down  the  scaflblds  and  the  gibbets,  to  niakq 
bonfires  of  (hem !" 


78  RICHELIEU. 

"  Whoever  dreamed  of  hearing  ymi  say  so  ?"  said 
his  companion.  •'  All  France  agrees  with  you.  no 
doubt;  but  ail  thought  Uiat  the  Marquis  de  Cinq 
Mars  either  loved  the  cardinal,  or  feared  him,  too 
much  to  see  his  crimes." 

"Fear  him  I'  exclaimed  Cinq  Mars,  the  blood 
mounting  to  his  cheek,  as  if  the  very  name  of  fear 
wounded  his  sense  of  honour.  He  then  paused, 
looked  into  his  real  feelings,  shook  his  head  mourn- 
fully, and  after  a  moments  interval  of  bitter  silence, 
added,  '•  True  !  true  !  Who  is  there  that  does  not 
fear  him  ?  Keverlheless,  it  is  impossible  to  see 
one's  country  bleeding  for  the  merciless  cruelty  of 
one  man,  the  prisons  filled  with  the  best  and  bravest 
ol"  the  land  to  quiet  his  suspicions,  and  the  king 
held  in  worse  bondage  than  a  slave  to  gratify  the 
daring  ambition  of  this  insatiate  churchman,  and  not 
to  wish  that  Heaven  had  sent  it  otherwise." 

'•It  is  not  Heaven's  fault,  sir,"'  replied  Fontrail- 
les  ;  "  it  is  our  own,  that  we  do  suffer  it.  Had  we 
one  man  in  France  who,  with  sufficient  courage, 
talent,  and  influence,  had  the  true  spirit  of  a  patriot, 
our  unhappy  country  might  soon  be  freed  from  the 
bondage  under  vviiich  she  groans." 

••  But  where  shall  we  find  such  a  man  V  asked 
the  master  of  the  hori-e,  eith.er  really  not  un- 
derstanding the  aim  of  Fontrailles,  or  wishing  to 
force  him  to  a  clearer  explanation  of  his  purpose. 
"  Such  an  undertaking  as  you  hint  at,"  he  continu- 
ed, "  must  be  well  considered,  and  well  supported, 
to  have  any  effect.  It  must  be  strengthened  by  wit, 
by  courage,  and  by  illustrious  names.  It  must  have 
the  power  ol  weHllh,  and  the  power  of  reputation. 
It  must  be  the  rousing  of  the  lion  with  all  his  Ibrce, 
to  shake  o(f  the  toils  by  which  he  is  encompassed." 

'•  But  still  tiiere  must  be  some  one  to  rouse  him," 
said  Fontrailles,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Cinq  Mars  with 
a  peculiar  expression,  as  if  to  denote  that  he  was 
tlie  man  alluded  to.  '•  .Suirpose  this  were  France," 
he  proceeded,  unbuckling  his  sword  from  the  belt, 
and  drawing  a  few    liiies  on  the   ground    with   the 


RICHliLIEU.  79 

point  of  the  sheath  j  "  show  me  a  province  or  a  cir- 
cle that  will  not  rise  at  an  hour's  notice  to  cast  off 
the  yoke  of  this  haled  cardinal.  Here  is  iNorniandy, 
almost  in  a  state  of  revolt ;  here  is  Guienne,  little 
better ;  here  is  Sedan,  our  own  ;  here  are  the  moun- 
tains of  Auvergne,  filled  with  those  whom  his  ty- 
ranny has  driven  into  their  solitude  for  protection  } 
and  here  is  Paris  and  its  insulted  parliament  wait- 
ing but  for  opportunity." 

•'  And  here,  said  Cinq  Mars,  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  following  the  example  uf  his  companion,  and 
pointing  out  with  his  sword,  as  if  on  a  map,  the  sup- 
posed situations  of  the  various  places  to  which  he 
referred — "  And  here  is  JPeronne,  and  Rouen,  and 
Havre,  and  Lyons,  and  Tours,  and  Brest,  and  Bor- 
deaux, and  every  town  or  fortress  in  France,  filled 
with  his  troops  and  governed  by  his  creatures  5  and 
here  is  Flanders,  with  Chaunes  and  Mielleray,  and 
fifteen  thousand  men,  at  his  disposal ;  and  here  is 
Italy,  with  Bullion,  and  as  many  more,  ready  to 
march  at  his  command  !" 

"But  suppose  I  could  ahow,  said  Fontrailles,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  his  companion's  arm,  and  detaining 
him  as  he  was  about  to  walk  on — "  but  suppose  I 
could  show  that  Mielleray  would  not  march, — that 
Bouillon  would  declare  for  us, — that  England  would 
aid  us  with  money,  and  Spain  would  put  five  thou- 
sand men  at  our  command, — that  the  king's  own 
brother — " 

Cinq  xMars  waved  his  hand  :  '■'  Ko !  no  :  no  !" 
said  he,  in  a  firm,  bitter  tone  :  "  Gaston  of  Orleans 
has  led  too  many  to  the  scaffold  already.  Tiie 
weak,  wavering  duke  is  ever  the  executioner  of  his 
friends.     Remember  poor  Montmorency  1  ' 

"Let  me  proceed,''  said  Fontrailles;  "hear  me 
to  an  end,  and  then  judge.  I  say,  suppose  that  the 
king's  own  brother  should  give  us  his  name  and  in- 
fluence, and  the  king  himself  should  yield  us  his 
consent." 

"  Ha  !"'  exclaimed  Cinq  Mars,  pausing  abruptly. 
The  idea  of  gaining  the  king  had  never  occurred  to 


so  RICHELIEU. 

him  ;  and  now  it  came  like  a  ray  of  sunshine 
throujrh  a  cloud,  brigiitening  the  prospect  which 
had  been  before  in  shadow.  '•  Think  you  the  king 
would  consent  V 

"  Assurciily  1"  replied  his  companion.  ''  Does  he 
not  hate  the  cardinal  as  much  as  any  one  ?  Does 
not  his  blood  boil  under  the  bonds  he  cinnot  break  ? 
And  would  he  not  bless  ihe  man  who  <jave  him 
freedom?  Tiiink.  Cinq  Murs  !'•  he  conliiiued,  en- 
deavouring to  throw  much  energy  into  his  manner, 
for  he  knew  that  tiie  ardent  mind  of  his  companion 
wanted  but  the  spark  of  enthusiasm  to  infl  ime — 
'•  think,  what  a  glorit>us  object  I  to  free  alike  the 
people  and  tlieir  sovereign,  and  to  rescue  the  many 
victims  even  now  destined  to  prove  the  tyrant's 
cruelly  !  Tiiink,  think  of  the  glorious  reward,  the 
tha;iks  of  a  king,  the  gratitude  of  a  nation,  and  the 
blessings  of  thousands  saved  from  dungeons  and 
from  deuh  !" 

It  worked  as  he  could  have  wished.  The  en- 
thusiasm of  his  words  had  their  full  effect  on  the 
mind  of  his  companion.  As  the  other  went  on,  the 
eye  of  Cinq  Mars  lightened  with  all  the  wild  .ardour 
of  his  nature  ;  and  striking  his  hand  upon  tlie  hilt  of 
his  sword,  as  if  longing  to  draw  it  in  the  inspiring 
cause  of  his  country's  liberty,  •'  Glorious  indeed  I" 
he  exclaimed — •  glorious  indeed  1" 

But  im  npdiately  after,  fixing  his  glance  upon  the 
ground,  he  fell  into  meditation  of  the  many  circum- 
stances of  the  times  ;  and  as  his  mind's  eye  ran  over 
the  difficulties  and  dangers  which  surrounded  the 
enterprise,  tiie  enthusiasm  which  had  beamed  in 
his  eye.  like  the  last  flash  of  an  expiring  fire,  died 
away,  and  he  replied,  with  a  sigh,  '  What  \ou  have 
described,  sir,  is  indeed  a  glorious  form — 'jut  it  is 
dead—it  wants  a  soul.  The  king,  though  every 
thing  great  and  noble,  has  been  too  long  governed 
now  to  act  for  himself.  The  Duke  of  Orleans  is 
weak  and  undecided  as  a  child.  Bouillon  is  far 
»way — •' 

"  And  where  is  Cinq  Mars  ?"  demanded  Fonlrail- 


niCHELIEU,  81 

Ics, — "where  is  the  man  whom  the  king  really 
loves  ?  If  Cinq  M.irs  has  forgotten  his  own  powers, 
so  lias  not,  Fr.tiice  ;  anti  she  now  telis  him — ihough 
by  so  weak  a  voice  as  mine — tlial  he  is  df^stined  to 
be  the  soul  of  this  great  body,  to  animate  tliis  good- 
ly frame,  to  lead  this  conspiracy,  if  that  can  be  so 
called  which  has  a  king  at  its  head  and  princes  for 
its  support." 

In  these  peaceable  days,  when  we  r4re  taught  to 
pray  against  privy  conspiracy,  both  as  a  crime  and 
misfortinie.  the  very  name  is  startling  to  ail  ortho- 
dox ears  ;  but  at  the  time  I  speak  of.  it  had  no  such 
effect.  Indeed,  from  the  commencement  of  ti:e 
wars  between  Henri  Qualre  and  the  League,  little 
else  had  existed  but  a  succession  of  conspiracies, 
which  c)ne  after  another  had  involved  every  distin- 
guished [)erson  in  th.e  country,  and  brought  more 
than  one  noble  head  to  the  block.  Mens  minds 
had  become  so  accustomed  to  tbe  sound,  tliat  the 
explosion  of  a  new  plot  scarcely  finished  matter  for 
a  day's  wonder,  as  tiie  burgriers  of  a  besieged  city 
at  length  hardly  hear  the  roaring  of  the  cannon 
against  tlieir  walls;  and  so  common  had  become 
the  name  of  conspirator,  that  there  were  very  few 
mei»  in  the  realm  who  had  not  acquired  a  just  title 
to  such  an  appellation. 

The  word  ••  conspiracy,"  therefore,  carried  noth- 
ing harsh  or  disagreeable  to  tiie  mind  of  ("inq  Mars. 
What  Fontraiiies  proposed  to  him  bore  a  plausible 
aspect.  Ii  ai)j)earcd  likely  to  succeed  ;  and  if  it  did 
so.  offered  him  that  reward  for  which,  of  all  others, 
his  heart  beat — glory  1  But  there  was  one  point  on 
which  he  paused  :  '•  Voa  forget,"  said  he, — •'  you 
forget  that  I  owe  all  to  Piichelieu — you  forget  that, 
however  he  may  have  wronged  this  country,  he  has 
not  wronged  me;  and  thtnjgh  I  may  wish  that  such 
a  being  did  not  exist,  it  is  not  for  me  to  injure  him." 

"  True,  most  true  !"  replied  his  wily  companion, 
who  kne\v  that  the  appearance  of  frank  sincerity 
would  win  more  from  Cinq    Mars  than   aught  else  : 

VOL.  I.  6 


$%  nicHELiEr. 

"  if  he  has  done  as  you  say,  be  still  his  friend.  For- 
get your  country  in  your  gratitude  ;  though  in  the 
days  of  ancipul  virtue  patriotism  was  lield  para- 
mount. We  muat  not  hope  for  such  things  now  ; 
so  no  more  of  tliat.  But  if  1  can  show  iliat  this 
proud  minister  has  never  served  you ;  if  I  can 
prove  that  every  honour  wliich  of  late  has  fallen 
upon  you,  far  Irom  being  a  bounty  of  the  cardinal, 
has  proceeded  solely  from  the  favour  of  the  king, 
and  lia.?  been  wrung  from  the  hard  churchman  as  a 
mere  concessio'i  lo  ti:e  monarch's  whim  ;  if  it  can 
be  made  clear  tiiat.  the  iMarquis  Cinq  Mars  would 
now  have  been  a  Duke  and  Constable  of  France, 
had  not  his  kind  friend  the  cardinal  whispered  he 
was  unfit  for  such  an  office, — then  will  you  have  no 
longer  tiie  excuse  of  friendship,  and  your  country's 
call  must  and  shall  be  heard.  ' 

"  1  can  scarce  credit  your  words,  Fontrailles."' 
replied  cinq  Mars.  "  You  speak  boldly,  but  do  yon 
speak  truly  .''' 

''  Most  truly,  on  my  life !''  replied  Fontrailles. 
"  Think  you,  cinq  .\Far's,  if  I  did  not  well  know  that 
I  couhi  prove  each  word  1  have  said,  that  thus  I 
would  have  placed  my  most  hidden  thouglits  in  the 
power  of  a  man  who  avows  himself  the  friend  of 
Richelieu  .'"' 

'•  Pri)ve  to  me, — but  prove  to  me,  that  I  am  not 
bound  to  him  in  gratitude,''  cried  Cmq  M  us,  vehe- 
mently ;  "take  fmm  me  the  bonds  by  which  he  has 
chained  my  honour,  and  I  wlil  hurl  him  from  his 
height  of  power,  or  die  in  the  attempt." 

"  Husii  '.''  exclaimed  Fontrailles.  laying  his  finger 
on  his  lip  as  they  turned  into  another  alley  ;  "we 
are  no  longer  alone.  Govern  yourself,  Cinq  Mars, 
and  1  will  prove  every  tittle  of  what  1  have  advanc- 
ed ere  we  be  two  hours  older." 

This  was  uttered  in  alow  tone  of  voice;  for 
there  was  indeed  anotlier  group  it!  the  same  avenue 
with  themselves.  The  party,  which  was  rariJIy  ap- 
proaching, consisted  of  three  persons,  of  whom  one 
was  a  step  in    advance,  and.   though   in  no   degree 


RICHELIEU.  8f 

superior  to  the  others  in  point  of  dress,  was  distin- 
guished from  tliem  by  that  indescribable  something 
wiiicli  coiislituies  tiie  idea  ol  digiuty.  He  was 
habited  in  a  plain  suit  of  black  silk,  wiUi  buttons  of 
jet,  and  every  part  of  his  dress,  even  to  the  sheath 
and  hdt  of  his  couteau  de  chasse,  corresponding. 
On  his  right  hand  he  wor«  a  tiiick  glove,  ot  tiie  par- 
ticular kind  generally  used  by  the  sportsmen  of  the 
peruid,  but  more  pariicul.irly  by  those  who  employ- 
ed themselves  in  the  then  tashionable  sport  of  Oird- 
caiciiing}  and  tiie  nets  and  snares  of  various  kinds 
carried  by  the  other  two,  seemed  to  evince  that 
such  had  been  the  mornings  amusement  of  the 
whole  party.  > 

The  king,  for  such  was  the  person  who  approach- 
ed, was  ratner  above  the  middle  height,  and  of  a 
spare  habit.  His  complexion  was  very  pale  3  and 
his  hair,  which  had  one  time  been  of  the  ricliest 
brown,  was  now  mingled  throughout  with  gray. 
But  still  tliere  was  much  to  interest,  both  in  his 
figure  and  countenance.  Tiiere  was  a  certain  air 
of  easy  self-possession  in  all  his  movements  j  and 
even  when  occupied  with  the  most  trivial  employ- 
ment, wiiich  was  often  tiie  case,  there  was  still  a 
degree  of  dignity  in  his  manner  that  seemed  to  show 
his  innate  leeling  of  their  emptiness,  and  his  owa 
consciousness  of  how  inferii^r  they  were,  both  to 
his  situation  and  hi:*  talents.  His  features  at  all 
times  appeared  handsome,  but  more  especially 
when  any  suilden  excitement  called  up  the  latent 
animation  of  his  dark-brown  eye,  recaliin^^  to  the 
minds  of  those  who  remembered  the  days  gone  be- 
fore, that  young  and  dery  prince  wh  j  could  not 
brook  the  usurped  sway  even  of  his  own  highly  tal- 
ented mother,  but  who  had  now  become  t  le  slave 
of  her  slave.  The  consciousness  of  his  fallen  situa- 
tion, and  of  his  situation  to  call  up  sufficient  energy 
of  mind  to  diseng.ige  himself,  generally  cast  upon 
him  an  appearance  of  profound  sadness  :  occasion- 
ally, however,  flashes  of  an;,fry  irritability  would 
hreak  across  the  cloud  of  melancli«iy   which  huaj 


84  KICHELTEW. 

over  fiim,  and  show  the  full  expression-  of  his  coun- 
tenance, which  at  other  times  displayed  nothing  but 
the  traces  of  deep  and  bilier  tlmujht,  or  a  inoinen-- 
tsry  sparkle  of  weak,  mrtliiuking  merriment.  So 
frequent,  however,  were  the  changes  to  be  observ- 
e<i  in  the  depressed  monarch,  that  some  persons 
even  doubted  whether  they  were  not  assumed  to 
cover  deeper  intentions.  It  might  be  so,  or  it, 
m^ight  not;  but  at  all  events,  between  the  infervals 
of  these  natural  or  acquired  appearances,  would  of-* 
ten  shine  out  strong  yleinis  of  his  mother's  unyisld- 
ing  spirit,  or  hi^  fatner's  generous  heart. 

The  rapid  pace  with  wliich  he  always  proceeded, 
soon  brought  the  king  close  to  Cinq  ars  and  Fon- 
trailles.  •'  Good-morroiv,  IMonsier  de  Fontrailles," 
said  he,  as  the  count  bowed  low  at  his  approach* 
"  Do  not  remain  uncovered.  "Tfs  a  fine  day  for 
forest  sports,  but  not  for  bare  heads  j  though  1  have 
heard  say,  that  if  you  were  in  the  thickest  mist  of 
all  Holland,  you  would  see  your  way  through  it. 
What!  mon  Grand  Ecuycr,"  he  continued,  turn- 
ing to  Cinq  Mars  ;  "'as  sad  as  if  thou  had«t  been 
plotting,  and  wen  dreaming  even  now  of  the  block 
and  are  ?''  And  with  a  kind  and  famdiar  air,  he 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  favourite's  arm;  wlio  oii  lii» 
part  started,  as  if  the  monarch  liad  read  his  thoughts 
and  foretold  his  doom. 

A  sin_de  word  has  sometimes  lost  or  won  an  em- 
pire. Even  less  than  a  single  word,  if  we  may  be- 
lieve the  history  of  D.irms's  hor^e,  v/bo,  being  a 
less  loquacious  animal  than  B-alaam's  ass,  served 
his  master  without  speaking  However,  Fontrail- 
les fixed  his  eves  on  Cinq  Mars,  and  seeing  plainly 
the  effect  of  Louis's  speech,  he  hastened  to  wipe  it 
away.  '-To  calculate  petty  dangers  in  a  great  un- 
dertaking," said  he,  "  were  as  weak  as  to  think 
over  all  the  falls  one  may  meet  with  in  the  cliase^ 
before  we  get  on  horseback.'" 

Both  Cinq  Mars  and  the  king  were  passionately 
fond  of  the  noble  forest  sport,  so  that  the  similie  of 
Fontraiilea  went  directly  home,  more  especially  to 


RICHELIEU,  85 

the  king,  who,  following  the  idea  thus  called  up, 
made  a  personal  application  of  it  to  him  who  intro- 
duced it.  "Jesu,  that  were  folly  indeed  !"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  answer  t©  the  count's  observation, 
"  But  you  are  not  fond  of  the  chase  either,  Mon- 
sieur de  Fontrailles,  if  I  think  right;  I  never  saw 
you  follow  boar  or  stag-,  that  1  can  call  to  mind." 

"  More  my  misfortune  than  my  fiult,  sire,"  re- 
plied Fonlrailies.  "  Had  I  ever  been  favoured  with 
an  invitation  to  follow  the  royal  hounds,  your  mnj- 
€sty  would  have  found  me  as  keen  of  the  sport  as 
even  St.  Hubert  is  said  to  have  been  of  yore." 

"  Blessed  be  his  memory  !'"  cried  the  king.  "  But 
we  wiJl  hunt  to-day  ;  w-e  wili  see  yoa  ride,  Monsieur 
de  •Fontrailles.  What  say  you,  Cinq  Mars?  The 
parties  who  went  out  to  turn  a  stag  last  night  (I  re- 
member now)  presented  this  morning,  that  in  tlie 
bosquet  at  the  end  of  the  forest,  near  Argenia,  is 
quartered  a  fat  stag  often,  and  another  by  Boisjnr- 
din  ;  but  that  by  Argenin  will  be  the  best,  for  he 
has  but  one  reflate  by  the  long  alley.  Come,  gen- 
tlemen, seek  your  boots, — seek  your  boots  ;  and  as 
our  grand  veneur  is  not  at  Chantilly,  you.  Cinq 
Mars,  shall  superintend  the  chase.  Order  tbe  mai- 
ire  valet  de  chiens  to  assemble  the  old  pack  and  the 
relais  at  the  Carrefour  d  Argenin,  and  then  we  will 
quickly  to  horse."  And  so  saying,  he  turned  away 
to  prepare  for  his  favourite  sport ;  but  scarcely  had 
gone  many  paces  ere  he  slackened  his  pace,  and  al- 
lowed the  two  oentlemen  to  rejoin  him.  "  What 
think  you,  friend  1"  said  he,  ad<jre«sing  Cinq  Mars  j 
'•  they  tell  me  the  cardinal  is  sick.  Have  you  heard 
of  it  ■?" 

"  I  have  heard  a  vague  report  of  the  kind,"  repli- 
ed Cinq  Mars,  watching  his  master's  countenance, 
"  but  as  yet  nothing  certain.  ;Mav  1  crave  what  in- 
formation your  majesty  possesses?" 

"  Why,  he  is  sick,  very  sick,"  replied  Louis,  "and 
perchance  may  die.  May  his  soul  tind  mercy  k  Per- 
chance he  may  die,  and  then—"  And  the  king 
tell  into  deep  thought. 


86  RicHEiiKtr, 

It  is  possible  that  at  that  moment  his  mind  was 
engnged  in  calculating  all  that  such  an  event  as  the 
destb  oi'  liichelreu  would  produce  :  for,  gradua  Iv. 
as  if  he  dreame J  of  ruling- for  himself,  and  as  hope 
spread  out  before  him  many  a  future  year  of  power 
and  greatness,  his  air  becanie  more  dignified,  his 
eyes  flisiipd  with  its  long  repressed  Mre,  and  his 
step  acq^uired  a  new  degree  of  firmness  and  majesty. 

Foiitrailjes  watched  the  alteration  of  the  kinj's 
countenance,  and.  skilful  at  reading  the  mind's 
Wi'rkings  by  the  face,  he  added,  as  if  finishing  the 
sentence  which  Louis  had  left  unconcluded,, — but 
taking  care  to  blend  what  he  said  with  an  air  of 
raillery  towards  the  master  of  the  horse,  lest  he 
should  offend  the  irritable  monarch — "  And  then," 
said  he.  '•  Cinq_  .>Iars  shall  be  a  duke.  Is  it  not  so. 
sire  ?'' 

Louis  started.  His  thoushts  had  been  engaged 
in  fir  greater  schemes  j  and  yet  rewarding  his 
friends  and  fivourates  alwass  formed  a  great  part  of 
the  pleasure  tie  anticipated  in  power,  and  he  replied, 
without  anger,  '•  Most  likely  it  will  be  so — Indeed," 
be  added,  *•  had  my  wishes,  as  a  man.  been  follow- 
ed," and  he  turned  kindly  towards  the  master  ofihe 
horse. —  •  it  sliould  have  been  so  long  aso,  Cinq 
Mars.  But  kings,  you  know,  are  obliged  to  yield 
their  private  inclinations  to  what  the  state  re- 
quires." 

Foiitrailles  glanced  his  eyes  towards  the  grand 
ecuyer,  as  if  desiring  him  to  remark  the  king's 
words.  Cinq  >|ars  bent  his  head,  in  token  that  he 
comprehended,  and  replied  to  the  king:  "  1  under- 
stand your  majesty  ;  but,  believe  me.  sire,  no  hon- 
our or  distinction  could  more  bind  Cinq  Mars  to  Ids 
king,  than  duty,  gratitude,  and  affection  do  at  this 
moment.'' 

'•  1  believe  thee,  friend. — I  believe  thee,  from  my 
soul.'"'  said  Louis.  "  God  forgive  us  that  we  should 
desire«the  death  of  any  man  !  and  surely  do  not  1 
that  of  the  cardinal,  for  he  is  a  good  minister,  and  a 
man  of  powerful  mind.    But,  withal,  we  may  wish 


RICHLLIEU.  87 

that  he  was  more  gentle  and  forgiving.  IXeverthe- 
less,  he  is  a  great  man.  See  how  he  thwarts  and 
rules  half  tile  kings  in  Europe — See  how  he  presses 
the  emperor,  and  our  good  broiher-in-law,  Philip  of 
Spain;  while  the  great  Gustavus,  this  northern  he- 
ro, is  little  better  than  his  general." 

"  He  is  assuredly  a  great  man.  sire,"  replied  Cinq 
Mars.  '•  But  permit  me  to  remark,  that  a  great  bad 
man  is  worse  than  one  of  less  talents,  for  he  has  the 
extended  capability  of  doing  harm  ;  and  perhaps, 
sire,  if  this  minister  contented  himself  with  thwart- 
ing kings  abroad;  he  would  do  better  than  by  oppoi- 
ing  the  will  of  his  own  sovereign  at  home." 

The  time,  however,  was  not  yet  come  for  Louis 
to  make  even  an  attempt  towards  liberating  himself 
from  the  trammels  to  which  he  had  been  so  long 
accustomed.  Habit  in  this  had  far  more  power  over 
his  mind  than  even  the  vast  and  aspiring  talents  of 
Richelieu.  JNo  man  in  France,  perhaps,  more  con- 
temned or  hated  the  cardinal  than  the  royal  slave 
whom  he  had  so  long  subjugated  to  his  burdensome 
sway.  Yet  Louis,  amid  all  his  dreams  for  the  fu- 
ture, looked  with  dread  upon  losing  the  support  of 
a  man  whom  he  detested,  but  upon  whose  counsels 
and  abilities  he  had  been  accustomed  to  rely  with 
confidence  and  security. 

Cinq  Miirs  saw  plainly  the  state  of  his  master's 
mind  ;  and  as  he  entered  the  palace,  he  again  began 
to  doubt  whether  he  should  at  all  lend  himself  to 
the  bold  and  dangerous  measures  which  Fontrailles 
had  suggested. 


83  RICflELFEtJ. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


In  wliich  H  shown  how  a  £;reat  king  hunted  a  great  beast;  and 
what  came  of  Die  hunting. 

While  the  king's  mind,  as  he  returned  to  the 
Chateau  de  Chantilly.  was  agitated  by  vasue  hopes 
and  fears,  which,  like  the  forms  that  we  trace  in  the 
clouds,  rolled  into  a  thousand  strange  a'ld  almost 
palpable  shapes  before  his  mind's  eye,  and  yet  were 
but  a  vapour  after  all  ;  and  while  the  thoughts  of 
Cinq  Mars  ran  over  all  ti.e  difficulties  and  dangers 
ofthefu'ure  prospect,  reverted  to  the  obligations 
Richelieu  had  once  conferred  upon  him,  or  scanned 
the  faults  and  crimes  of  the  minister,  till  the  strug- 
gle of  patriotism  and  gratitude  left  nothing  but  doubt 
behind  :  the  imagination  of  Fontrailles  w.is  very  dif- 
ferently occnpied.  It  was  not  that  he  pondered  the 
means  of  engaging  more  firmly  the  wavering  mind 
of  cinq  Mars.  J\o.  for  he  had  marked  him  for  his 
own  ;  and  from  that  morning's  conversation,  felt  as 
sure  of  his  companion  as  the  ant-lion  does  of  the 
insect  he  sees  tremble  on  the  edge  of  his  pit.  Nei- 
ther did  he  revolve  the  probable  issue  of  the  dan- 
gerr)us  schemes  in  which  he  was  engaging  both 
himself  and  others ;  for  he  was  confident  in  his 
powers  of  disentangling  himself,  when  it  should  be- 
come necessary  to  his  own  safety  so  to  do.  and  he 
was  not  a  man  to  distres?;  himself  for  the  danirpr  of 
Ins  iViends.  The  occupation  of  his  mind,  as  they 
approached  the  castle,  was  of  a  more  personal  na- 
ture.   The  truth  is,  that  so  far  from  discomposing 


RICHELMO.  89 

himself  upon  the  score  of  distant  evils,  the  sole 
trouble  of  his  thoughts  was  the  hunting  party  into 
which  he  had  entrapped  himself.  Being  by  no 
means  a  good  horseman,  and  caring  not  one  sotis  for 
a  past  time  which  involved  far  too  much  trouble 
and  risk  to  accord  in  any  degree  with  his  idea  of 
pleasure,  Fontrailles  had  professed  himself  fond  of 
hunting,  merely  to  please  the  king,  without  ever 
dreaming  tiiat  he  should  be  called  upon  to  give  far- 
ther proof  of  his  veneration  for  the  royal  sport. 

He  saw  plainly,  however,  that  his  case  admitted 
of  no  remedy.  Go  he  must;  and  having  enough 
philosophy  in  his  nature  to  meet  inevitable  evils 
with  an  unshrinking  mind,  he  prepared  to  encoun- 
ter all  the  horrors  of  the  chase,  as  if  they  were  his 
principal  delight. 

He  accordingly  got  into  his  boots  with  as  much 
alacrity  as  their  nature  permitted,  for,  each  weigh- 
ing fully  eight  pounds,  they  were  somewhat  ponder- 
ous and  untnanageable.  He  thenliastily  loaded  his 
pistols,  stuck  his  couteau  de  ehasse  in  his  belt,  and 
throwing  the  feather  from  his  hat,  was  the  lirst 
ready  to  mount  in  the  courtyard. 

"Why,  how  is  this,  Monsieur  de  Fontrailles?" 
said  the  king,  who  in  a  few  minutes  joined  him  in 
the  area  where  the  horses  were  assembled.  "  The 
first  at  your  post !"  You  are,  indeed,  keen  for  the 
sport.  Some  one  see  for  Cinq  Mars. — Oh  !  here  he 
comes:  Mount,  geiillemen,  mount !  Our  ordinaries 
of  the  chase  and  lieutenants  await  us  at  the  Carre- 
four  d' Argcnin  ;  mount,  gentlemen,  mount!  Ha! 
have  you  calculated  your  falls  for  to-day,  IVIonsieur 
de  Fontrailles,  as  you  spoke  of  this  morning.'"  And 
the  kiiig'seyes  glistened  with  almost  childish  eager- 
ness for  Ills  favourite  pastime. 

in  the  mean  while  t'inq  Mars  had  approached 
with  a  slow  step  nnd  a  gloomy  countenance,  show- 
ing none  nfthe  -ihrritv  of  Fnntraillps.  or  the  enthu- 
siastic ardour  of  the  king.  "  There  are  other  dan- 
gers than  falls  to  be  met  with  in  chase,  my  liege," 


90  RICHELIEU. 

said  the  master  of  the  horse,  with  a  bitter  expres- 
sion of  displeasure  in  his  manner;  "and  that  Claude 
de  Bienau  couKi  inform  your  majesty." 

'*  i  know  not  wiiat  vou  mean,  cinq  ,Alars,'' answer- 
ed the  king.  •■  De  Bienau  is  a  aallant  cavalier;  as 
stanch  to  his  game  as  a  beagie  of  the  best;  and 
though  he  shows  more  service  to  our  queen  than  to 
ourself,  he  is  no  less  valued  for  that." 

*•  He  is  one  cavalier  out  of  ten  thousand — "'  re- 
plied Cinq  Mirs.  warmly  ;  "  my  dearest  companion 
and  friend;  and  while  Cinq  Mars  has  a  sword  to 
wield.  De  Bienau  shall  never  want  one  to  second 
his  qmrrel.'' 

"  VV^hy,  what  ails  thee,  Cinq  :Mar3  ?'"  demanded  the 
king,  with  some  surprise.  ''  Thou  art  angry,— what 
is  it  now  V 

''  It  is,  sire,"  replied  the  master  of  the  horse, 
"  that  I  have  just  had  a  courier  from  St.  Germain, 
who  bears  me  word,  that  three  days  since  past,  the 
count,  as  your  raijesly  and  I  hive  often  done,  was 
hunting  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Mmtes.  and  was 
there  most  treacherously  attacked  by  an  armed 
band,  in  which  adventure  he  suffered  two  wounds 
that  nearly  drained  his  good  heart  of  blood.  Shall 
this  be  tolerated,  sire  .'"" 

''  ?so,  indeed  1  no.  indeed  !"  replied  the  king,  with 
much  warintli.  'This  shall  be  looked  to.  Our 
kingdom  must  not  be  overrun  with  robbers  and 
briganils. " 

'•Robbers  I'-  exclaimed  cinq  Mars,  indignantly. 
"  I  know  not — they  may  have  been  robbers;  but  my 
letters  say  that  one  of  them  wore  colours  of  Isabel 
and  silver." 

"  Those  are  the  colours  of  Chavigni's  livery,"  Te« 
plied  the  king,  who  knew  the  most  minute  differ- 
ence in  the  bearing  of  every  fimily  in  the  kingdom, 
with  wonderful  precision.  "This  must  be  looked 
to,  and  it  shall,  or  I  am  not  deserving  of  my  name. 
But  now  mount,  gentlemen,  mount!  we  are  waited 
for  at  the  rendezvous." 


RICHELIEU.  01 

The  Carre/our  d'Argenin,  at  which  the  king  and 
his  attendants  soon  arrived,  was  a  large  open  space 
in  the  forest,  where  four  roads  crossed.  Each  of 
these,  but  one.  cut  into  a  long  straight  avenue 
through  the  wood,  opened  a  view  of  the  country  be- 
yond, forming  a  separate  landscape,  as  it  were, 
framed,  or  to  use  the  Frencli  terni,  eticadre,  by  llie 
surrounding  trees.  The  sun  had  not  yet  risen  suffi- 
ciently to  shine  upon  any  of  these  forest  roads  ;  but 
the  sweeping  hills  and  dales  beyond  were  to  be 
seen  through  the  apertures,  richly  lighted  up  by  the 
clear  beams  of  the  morning  ;  though  occasionally  a 
soft  wreath  of  mist,  lingering  in  the  bosom  of  some 
of  the  hollows,  would  roll  a  transient  shadow  over 
llie  prospect.  Louis  had  chosen  this  spot  for  the 
rendezvous,  perhaps  as  much  on  account  of  its  pic- 
turesque beauty  as  for  any  other  reason.  Deprived 
as  he  was  of  courtly  splendour  and  observance,  his 
mind,  unpervertcd  by  the  giddy  show  and  tinsel 
pomp  that  generally  surround  a  royal  station,  re- 
garded with  a  degree  of  enthusiasm  the  real  loveli- 
ness of  nature -,  and  now  it  was  some  time  before 
even  the  preparations  for  his  favourite  sport  could 
call  his  attention  from  the  picturesque  beauty  of  the 
sp(<t. 

The  policy  of  Richelieu,  which  has  led  him  to  de- 
prive the  king  of  many  of  the  externarl  marks  of 
sovereignty  as  well  as  of  the  real  power,  taught  him 
also  to  encourage  all  those  sports  which  might  at 
once  occupy  Louis's  mind,  and  place  him  at  a  dis- 
tance from  the  scene  of  government.  Thus,  the  hunt- 
ing equipage  of  the  king  was  maintained  in  almost 
more  than  royal   luxury. 

The  first  objects  that  presented  themselves  in  the 
Carre/our  dArgenin.  were  a  multitude  of  dogs  and 
horses,  grouped  together  with  the  lieutenants  of  the 
forest,  and  the  various  officers  of  the  hunt,  under 
those  trees  which  would  best  aflord  them  shade  as 
the  sun  got  up.  Various  piqueurs  and  valets  were 
seen   about  the  ground,  some  holding  the  horses. 


92  RICHELIEU. 

some  laying  out  the  table  for  the  royal  dejeune,  and 
some  busily  engaged  in  cutting  long  straight  wands 
from  the  more  pliable  sort  of  trees,  and  peeling  off 
the  barii  for  a  certain  distance,  so  as  to  leave  a  sort 
of  handle  or  hilt  stdl  covered,  while  the  rest  of  the 
stick,  about  three  feet  in  length,  remained  bare. 
These,  called  "  batons  de  chasse,"  were  first  pre- 
sented to  tlie  i<ing.  who,  having  chosen  one.  direct- 
ed the  rest  to  be  distributed  among  his  friends  and 
attendants,  for  the  purpose  of  guarding  their  heads 
from  tiie  boughs,  which  in  the  rapidity  of  the  chase, 
while  it  continued  in  the  forest,  often  inflicted 
serious  inj'ines. 

The  mailre  valet  de  cJiiens  and  his  ordinaries,  each 
armed  with  a  portentous-looking  horn,  through  the 
circles  of  which  were  passed  a  variety  of  dog 
couples,  were  busily  occupied  in  distributing  the 
hounds  into  their  different  relays,  and  the  grooms 
and  other  aitendents  were  seen  trying  the  girths  of 
the  heavy  hunting  saddles,  loading  the  pistols,  or 
placing  them  in  the  holsters,  and  endeavouring  to 
disting^uish  themselves  fully  as  much  by  their  bustle 
as  by  their  activity. 

However,  it  w;is  an  animated  scene,  and  those 
who  saw  it  could  not  wonder  that  Louis  preferred 
the  gay  excitement  of  such  sports  to  the  sombre 
monotony  of  a  palace  without  a  court,  and  royalty 
without  its  splendour. 

After  examining  the  preparations  with  a  critical 
eye,  and  inquiring  into  the  height,  age,  size,  and 
other  liistinctive  sisxns  of  the  stag  which  was  to  be 
hunted.  Louis  placed  himself  at  the  breakfast  table 
whicii  had  been  prepared  in  the  midst  of  the  green, 
and  motioning  Cinq  Mars  and  Fontrailles  to  be 
seated,  entered  into  a  lively  discussion  concerning 
the  proper  spots  for  placing  therelavs  of  horses  and 
dops.  At  leuL'lh  it  was  determined  that  six  hounds 
and  four  iiunters  should  be  stationed  at  about  two 
leagues  and  a  half  on  the  high  road  -,  that  twelve 
dogs  and   four  piqueurs,  vith  an  ordinary  of  the 


RICHELIEU.  93 

chase,  should  take  up  a  position  upon  the  side  of  a 
hill  under  which  the  stag  was  likely  to  pass  ;  and 
that  ;iiH»tlM;r  relay  should  remain  at  a  spot  called 
Le  CroLc  de  hois,  wilhiu  sight  of  which  liie  hunt 
would  he  obliged  to  come,  if  the  animal,  avoiding 
the  open  country,  made  for  the  other  extremity  of 
the  forest. 

It  lell  upon  Cinq  Mars  to  communicate  these  di- 
rections to  the  officers  of  the  huat,  which  he  did  in 
that  sort  of  jargon  which  t[;e  sports  of  ihe  field  had 
made  common  in  those  days,  but  which  would  now 
be  hardly  inielligible.  He  was  engaged  in  giving 
general  orders,  that  the  horses  should  be  kept  in 
the  shade  and  ready  to  be  mounted  at  a  moment's 
notice,  in  case  the  king  or  any  of  his  suite  should 
require  them,  and  that  the  ordinary  should  by  no 
means  let  slip  any  of  the  dogs  of  the  relay  upon  the 
stag,  even  if  it  pas.-ed  piqnreurs  of  \.he  principal  hunt 
— when  suddenly  he  slopped,  and  pointing  with  his 
hand,  a  man  was  discovered  standing  in  one  of  the 
avenues,  apparently  watching  the  royal  party. 

The  circumstance  would  have  passed  without  no- 
tice, had  it  not  been  for  the  extraordinary  stature  of 
the  intruder,  who  appeared  killy  as  tall  as  cinq  Mars 
himself.  Attention  was  farther  excited  by  his  dis- 
appearing as  soon  as  he  was  observed  ;  and  some 
grooms  were  sent  to  bring  him  before  the  king,  but 
their  search  was  in  vain,  and  the  matter  was  soon 
forgotten. 

The  ndnute  relation  of  a  royal  hunt  in  France, 
anno  1642.  wouhl  afford  very  little  general  interest. 
Enough  has  been  said  to  show  how  different  were 
the  proceedings  of  lliat  time  IVom  our  method  of 
conducting  such  things  in  the  present  day  ;  and  those 
who  want  farther  iurormaliou  on  the  subject  may 
find  it  in  a  very  erudite  treatise,  •'  J)e  la  Chasse,'' 
&c.,  by  Le  31eicisr,'n\  the  year  filly-six  of  the  same 
century-  We  must,  however,  in  a  moio  general 
manner  follow  the  king  over  the  field,  tliougii  vsith- 
out  altempting  to  describe  all  the  minule  occurren- 


94  RICHELIEU. 

ces  of  the  day,  or  the  particulars  of  etiquette  usual 
on  such  occasions. 

'I'iie  stag,  poor  silly  beast,  who  had  been  dozing 
away  his  tune  in  a  Uiicket  ut  about  haii'  a  mile  dis- 
tance, was  soon  roused  by  tlie  very  unwislied  ap- 
pearance of  the  huntsmen,  and  taking  his  path  down 
the  [jfincipal  avenue,  bounded  away  towards  the  op- 
en country,  calculating,  more  wisely  liian  the  beast 
recorded  by  our  old  friend  ..Esop,  that  the  boughs 
might  encumber  his  head-gear.  'I'lie  horns  sound- 
ed loud,  the  couples  were  unloosed,  the  dogs  slip- 
ped, and  away  went  man  and  beast  in  the  pursuit. 
For  a  moment  or  two  the  forest  was  tilled  with 
clang,  and  cry.  and  tumult :  as  the  hunt  swept  away, 
it  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  till  the  sjiind,  almost 
lost  in  the  indistinct  distance,  left  the  deep  glades 
of  the  wood  to  resume  their  original  silence. 

They  did  not,  however,  long  appear  solitary,  for 
in  a  few  minutes  after  the  hunt  had  quitted  the 
forest,  the  same  tall  figure,  whose  apparition  had  in- 
terrupted cinq  Mars  in  his  oratory  concerning  the 
relays,  emerged  from  one  <;!"  the  narrower  paths, 
leading  a  strong  black  horse,  whose  trappings  were 
thickly  covered  with  a  variety  of  ilitiereiit  figures  in 
brass,  representing  the  signs  of  the  zodiac,  together 
with  sundry  triangles,  crescents,  and  other  siiapes, 
such  as  formed  part  of  the  astrological  quacltery  of 
that  day.  'I'he  a[>pearance  of  the  master  was  not 
less  singular  in  point  of  dress  than  that  of  the  horse. 
He  wore  a  long  black  robe,  somewhat  in  the  shape 
of  that  borne  by  the  order  of  Black  Friars,  but 
sprinkled  with  silver  sisjns.  This,  which  mide  him 
look  Irulv  gigantic,  was  bound  round  his  waist  by  a 
brond  girdle  <>f  while  leather,  traced  all  over  with 
strange  characters,  that  miglit  have  been  called 
hieroglyphics  had  they  sijiiified  any  thing:  but 
whicij  were.  prol)a!)lv.  as  iiiiineaning  as  the  science 
ihev  were  intended  to  dijinfy. 

'J'o  say  the  truth,  the  wearer  did  not  seem  par- 
ticularly at  his  ease  in  his  habiliments  ;  for  wlien, 
after  having  looked  cautiously  around,  he  attempted 


UrCHELTLTJ,  95 

to  mount  his  horse,  the  long  drapery  of  his  gown 
got  entangled  round  his  feet  at  every  efi'ort,  and  it 
was  not  till  he  lind  vented  several  very  ungodly  exe- 
crations, and  effected  a  loni^  rent  in  llie  back  of  his 
robe,  liiat  lie  accomplished  the  ascent  into  the'sad- 
dle.  Once  there,  however,  the  dexterity  of  his 
horsemanship,  and  his  bearing  altogether,  made  him 
appear  much  nmre  like  the  captain  of  a  band  of 
heavy  cavalry  than  an  astrologer,  notwithstanding 
the  long  snowy  beard  which  hung  down  to  his  gir- 
dle, and  the  profusion  of  white  locks  that,  escaping 
from  his  fur  cap,  floated  wildly  over  his  face,  and 
concealed  the  greater  part  of  its  features. 

The  horsemm  paused  for  a  moment,  seemingly 
immersed  in  thought,  while  his  horse,  being  a  less 
consitlerate  beast  than  himself,  kept  pawing  the 
ground,  eager  to  set  off.  "  Let  me  see,'"  said  the 
horseman  5  ''the  stag  will  soon  be  turned  on  the 
high  road  by  the  carriers  for  Clermont,  and  must 
come  round  under  the  hill,  and  then  I  would  take 
the  world  to  a  chapon  de  Maine,  that  that  fool 
Andrieii  lets  slip  his  relay,  and  drives  the  beast  to 
^water.  If  so,  I  have  them  at  the  Croix  de  bois.  At 
all  evei.t-*,  one  must  try.'"  And  thus  speaking,  he 
struck  his  horse  hard  wiih  a  thick  kind  of  truncheon 
he  held  in  his  hand,  and  soon  was  out  of  the 
forest. 

in  the  mean  while  tlse  king  and  his  suite  follow- 
ed close  upttn  liie  iiounds  ;  the  monarcii  and  cinq 
I^Iars,  animated  by  the  love  of  the  chase,  and  Fon- 
trailles  risking  to  break  his  neck  rather  than  be  be- 
hind. The  road  for  sonse  way  was  perfectly  unob- 
Hlructed,  and  a.s  long  as  it  remained  so,  the  stag  fol- 
lowed it  without  deviation  ;  but  at  length  a  train  of 
carriers'  wagons  appeared,  wending  their  way  to- 
wards Clermont.  The  jin;^ling  of  the  bells  on  the 
yokes  of  the  oxen,  and  the  tlanting  of  the  red  and 
white  ribands  on  their  horns,  instantly  startled  the 
stag,  wild,  sti!pt)iiig  short  in  his  Highl,  stood  at  gaze 
for  a  moment,  and  then  dartmg  across  the  country, 
entered  a  uirro'.v  trick  of  that  unproductive  sandy 


90  RICHELILV. 

kind  of  soil,  called  in  France  landes,  which  border- 
ed the  forest.  It  so  linppened — unfortunately.  I  was 
going  to  siy.  but  douiliess  the  sw^  tliou^lii  otlier- 
wise — thit  a  large  herd  of  his  homed  kuuired  were 
lying  out  in  tiiis  very  track,  enjoying  the  morning 
sunshine,  and  regaling  themselves  upon  the  first 
fruits  that  fell  from  some  chestnut-trees,  whicli  in 
that  place  skirted  the  forest. 

JVovv  the  B-ag,  remembering  an  old  saying,  which 
signalizes  tiie  solace  ol  •'  company  in  distress/' pro- 
ceeded straight  into  tiie  midst  of  the  herd  ;  who 
being  fat  burghers  of  the  wod.  and  l;ke  miny  otlier 
fat  burghers  somewhat  selfish  witiial,  far  from  com- 
passionating his  case,  received  him  with  scanty 
courtesy,  and.  in  short,  wis!  el  liim  at  the  devil. 
However,  no  time  was  lobe  lost;  the  d-igs  were 
close  upon  hi-j  steps;  '•  sauve  qui  pent  .'"  was  the 
word  among  the  sligs,  and  away  ihey  all  went,  Hy- 
ing in  every  directi.in. 

The  hunters  h:'d  as  little  cause  to  be  pleased 
with  this  inanCBuvre  as  tlie  stags  ;  for  the  iiou  id.s 
being  young,  were  ileceived  by  a  strong  family  iike- 
ness  betweeii  o.ie  of  tiie  herd  and  the  one  they  had 
so  long  followed,  and  all  of  tliedogs  but  lour,  yield- 
ing up  the  real  o;)jecl  of  pursuit,  give  cli  ise  to  ttse 
strange  stag.  who.  li.irtin  j  otf  to  ihe  left,  took  his 
way  toward.^  the  river,  (-inq  Aiars  and  most  of  the 
pignevrs.  misled  by  se.'dng  tiie  youiii  iioaiids  have 
so  great  a  mijority,  followed  also.  It  was  in  v.iin 
tiie  king  c.ilied  to  him  to  come  back,  that  he  was 
hunting  the  wrong  beist,  and  was  as  great  a  fool  as 
a  young  hound;  he  neither  heeded  nor  heard,  and 
soon  uas  out  ofsi  rhf. 

'•  Sa  Chriiti?'  cried  Louis.  "  tiiere  they  go,  just 
like  the  world,  quilting  the  true  pursuit  to  tullow 
the  first  f>ol  that  runs,  and  priding  ihemselves  on 
being  ia  the  right,  when  they  are  most  in  error  ; 
b'Ji  cr)me,  Mofisieur  de  Fontrailles,  we  will  follow 
the  true  stag  of  the  hunt.*' 

Bat  Fontrailles  loo  was  gone.  The  separation  of 
the  hounds  had   afforded  an  opportunity  of  quitting 


RICHELIEU.  97 

the  sport  not  to  be  neglected,  and  he  had  slunk 
away  towards  the  palncG  bytlie  nearest  road,\vhich, 
leading  tiiruu^li  a  narrow  dell,  skirted  the  side  of 
the  hill  opposite  lo  that  over  which  the  king's  stag 
had  taken  liis  course. '  However,  he  still  heard  from 
time  to  time  the  dogs  give  tongue, and  the  hunting'cry 
of  the  king;  who,  without  considering  that  no  one 
followed,  gave  the  exact  number  of  mofs  on  his  horn, 
followed  by  the  halloo,  and  the  II  dit  vrai !  il  dlt 
vrai!  which  the  piqueurs  ordinarily  give  out,  to  an- 
nounce that  the  dog  who  cried  was  upon  the  right 
scent.  Still  Fontrailles  pursued  his  way,  when  sud- 
denly he  perceived  the  stag,  who,  having  distanced 
the  king,  was  brought  to  bay  under  the  bank  over 
which  his  road  lay. 

At  that  season  of  the  year,  the  stag  is  peculiarly 
dangerous,  but  Fontrailles  did  not  want  personal 
courage,  and,  dismounting  from  his  horse,  he  sprang 
to  the  bottom  of  the  bank  3  where,  drawing  hig 
cauteau  de  chasse,  he  prepared  to  run  in  upon  the 
breast ;  but  remembering  at  the  moment  that  the 
king  could  not  be  far  distant,  he  paused,  and  waiting 
till  Louis  came  up,  held  the  stirrup  and  offered  his 
weapon  to  the  monarch,  who  instantly  running  in, 
presented  the  knife  with  all  the  dexterity  of  an  ex- 
perienced sportsman,  and  in  a  moment  laid  the  stag 
dead  at  his  feet. 

It  was  now  the  task  of  Fontrailles  to  keep  off  the 
hounds,  while  the  king,  anxious  to  have  all  the  hon- 
ours of  the  day  lo  himself,  began  what  is  called  in 
France  the  section^  and  curee  aux  chiens,  without 
waiting  for  piqueurs  or  ordinaries.  Nevertheless, 
he  had  only  time  to  make  the  longitudinal  division 
of  the  skin,  and  one  of  the  transverse  sections  from 
the  breast  to  the  knee,  when  the  sound  of  a  horse's 
feet  made  him  raise  his  head  from  his  somewhat 
ankingly  occupation,  thinking  that  some  of  the  other 
hunters  must  be  now  come  up. 

"  Qiie  Viable!"  cried  the  king,  viewing  the 
strange  figure  of  the  astrologer  we  have  alreadv  po 

VOL.  I.  7 


98  RICHELIEU. 

ticed  in  this  profound  chapter.  "  Je  veuxdire,  Vive 
JDieu!  What  do  you  want  ?  and  who  are  you  1" 

"  A  friend  to  the  son  of  Henri  Quatre,"  replied  the 
Btranger,  advancing  his  horse  closer  to  the  king,  who 
stood  gazing  on  him  with  no  small  degree  of  awe — 
for  be  it  remembered,  that  the  superstitious  belief 
in  all  sorts  of  necromancy  was  at  its  height  both  in 
England  and  France. 

"  A  friend  to  the  son  of  Henri  Quatre  !  and  one 
who  comes  to  warn  him  of  near-approaching  dan- 
gers." 

"  What  are  they,  friend  T"  demanded  the  king, 
with  a  look  of  credulous  surprise  :  "  Let  me  know 
whence  they  arise,  and  how  they  may  be  avoided, 
and  your  reward  is  sure." 

"I  seek  no  reward,"  replied  the  stranger,  scorn- 
fully ;  "  can  all  the  gold  of  France  change  the  star 
of  my  destiny  ?  No  1  monarch,  1  come  uncalled,  and 
1  will  go  unrewarded.  The  planets  are  still  doubt- 
ful over  your  house,  and  therefore  1  forewarn  you 
ere  it  be  too  late — A  Spaniard  is  seeking  your  over- 
throw, and  a  woman  is  plotting  your  ruin — A  prince 
is  scheming  your  destruction,  and  a  queen  is  betray- 
ing your  trust." 

"  How  1"  exclaimed  Louis.  "  Am  I  to  be- 
lieve— " 

"  Ask  me  no  questions,"  cried  the  stranger,  who 
heard  the  trampling  of  horses'  feet  approaching  the 
scene  of  conference,  "  In  this  roll  is  written  the 
word  of  fate.  Read  it,  O  king !  and  timely  guard 
against  the  evil  that  menaces."  So  saying,  he 
threw  a  scroll  of  parchment  before  the  king,  and 
spurred  on  his  horse  to  depart  j  but  at  that  moment, 
the  figure  of  Cinq  Mars,  who  by  this  time  had  run 
down  the  stag  he  had  followed,  presented  itself  in 
his  way.  "  What  mumming  in  this  ?"  cried  the 
master  of  the  horse,  regarding  the  stranger. 

"  Stop  Jiim .'  Cinq  3Jars."  cried  Fontrailles,  who 
foresaw  that  the  stranger's  predictions  might  de- 
ranee  his  schemes.  "  He  is  an  impostor  :  do  not 
let  him  pass!"    And  at  the  same  time  he  laid  his 


RICHELIEU.  &y 

hand  upon  the  astrologer's  bridle.  But  in  a  mo- 
ment, the  stranger  spurring  on  his  charger,  over- 
turned Fontrailles,  shivered  the  hunting  sword  which 
Cinq  Mars  had  drawn  against  him  to  atoms  with  one 
blow  of  his  truncheon,  and  scattering  the  grooms 
and  huntsmen  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  was  soon  out 
of  reach  of  pursuit. 

"  What  means  all  this  ?"  exclaimed  Cinq  Mars; 
— "  explain,  Fontrailles  !  Sire,  shall  we  follow  yon 
impostor  ?" 

cut  Louis's  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  strained  gaze 
upon  the  scroll,  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  and 
which  seemed  to  absorb  every  faculty  ia  his  soul. 
At  length  he  raised  them,  mounted  his  horse  in 
■ilence,  and  still  holding  the  parchment  tight  in  his 
hand,  rode  on,  exclaiming,  "  To  Chantilly." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Showing  how  (he   green-eyed  monster  got  hold  of  a  young 
lady's  heart,  and  what  he  did  with  it. 

Who  is  there  that  has  not  dreamed  and  had  their 
dream  broken  ?  Who  is  there  that  has  not  sighed  to 
see  spring-flowers  blighted,  or  summer  sunshine 
yield  to  wintry  clouds ;  or  bright  hopes  change  to 
dark  sorrows,  and  gay  joys  pass  away  like  sudden 
meteors,  that  blaze  for  one  splendid  moment,  and 
then  drop  powerless  into  the  dark  bosom  of  the 
night? 

If  memory,  instead  of  softening  all  the  traces, 
gave  us  back  the  original  lines  of  life  in  their  native 
harshness,  who  could  live  on  to  old  age  ?  for  the 
catalogue  of  broken  hopes,  and  disappointed  wishes, 
and  pleasures  snatched  from  us  never  to  return, 
would  be  more  than  any  human  mind  could  bear. 


100  RICHELIKV. 

It  would  harden  the  heart  to  humble,  or  break  it  in 
iti  youth.  It  is  happy  too,  that  in  e^irly  years  our 
mind  has  greater  power  of  resistance,  for  the  novel- 
ty of  sorrow  gives  it  a  double  sting. 

The  fatigues  of  her  journey  had  long  worn  off. 
and  left  Pauline  de  Beaumont  all  the  glow  of  wild 
and  youthful  beauty,  which  had  adorned  her  in  her 
native  hills.  Her  cheek  had  recovered  its  fine  soft 
blush  in  all  its  warmth,  and  her  eyes  all  their  dark 
brilliancy.  But  the  cheerful  gayety  which  had  dis- 
tinguished her,  the  light  buoyancy  of  spirit,  that 
seemed  destined  to  rise  above  all  the  sorrow  of  the 
world,  had  not  come  back,  with  the  rose  of  her 
cheek,  or  the  lustre  of  her  eye.  She  loved  to  be 
alone,  and  instead  of  regretting  the  jloom  and  still- 
ness which  prevailed  in  the  court  of  Anne  of  Austria, 
she  often  seemed  to  find  its  gayety  too  mueh  for 
her,  and  would  retire  to  the  suite  of  apartments  ap- 
propriated to  her  mother  and  herself,  to  enjoy  the 
solitude  of  her  own  thoughts. 

At  first,  Madame  de  Beaumont  fancied  that  the 
melancholy  of  her  daughter  was  caused  by  the  sud- 
den change  from  many  loved  scenes,  endeared  by 
all  the  remembrances  of  infancy,  to  others  in  which, 
as  yet,  she  had  acquired  no  interest.  But  as  a  second 
week  followed  the  first,  after  their  arrival  at  St.  Ger- 
main's, and  the  same  depression  of  spirits  still  con- 
tinued, the  marchioness  began  to  fear  that  Pauline 
had  some  more  serious  cause  of  sorrow ;  and  her 
mind  reverted  to  the  suspicions  of  De  Blenau's  con- 
stancy, which  she  had  been  the  first  to  excite  in  her 
daughter's  bosom. 

The  coming  time  is  filled  with  things  that  we 
know  not,  and  chance  calls  forth  so  many  unexpected 
events,  that  the  only  way  in  life  is  to  wait  for  Fate, 
and  seize  the  circumstances  of  the  day  ;  by  the 
errors  of  the  past  to  correct  our  actions  at  present, 
and  to  leave  the  future  to  a  wiser  judgment  and  a 
stronger  hand.  Madame  de  Beaumont  took  no  no- 
tice of  her  daughter's  melancholy,  resolving  to  be 
guided  in  her  conduct  by  approaching  circumstan- 


RICHELIEU.  101 

ces  5  for  clouds  were  gathering  thickly  on  the  politi- 
cal horizon  of  France,  which,  like  a  thunder-storm 
depending  on  the  tickle  breath  of  the  wind,  might 
break  in  tempests  over  their  head,  or  be  wafted  afar, 
and  leave  them  still  in  peace. 

It  vvas  one  of  those  still  evenings,  when  the  world, 
as  if  melancholy  at  the  sun's  decline,  seems  to  watch 
in  silence  the  departure  of  his  latest  beams.  All  had 
sunk  into  repose,  not  a  cloud  passed  over  the  clear 
expanse  of  sky,  not  a  noise  was  stirring  upon  earth; 
and  Pauline  felt  a  sensation  of  quiet;  pensive  melan- 
choly steal  over  all  her  thoughts,  harmonizing  them 
with  the  calmness  of  the  scene,  as  it  lay  tranquilly 
before  her,  extending  far  away  to  the  glowing  verge 
of  heaven,  unawakened  by  a  sound,  unruffled  by  a 
breath  of  air. 

The  window  at  which  she  sat  looked  towards  St. 
Denis,  where  lay  the  bones  of  many  a  race  of  kings, 
who  had,  in  turn,  worn  that  often-contested  diadem, 
which  to  the  winner  had  generally  proved  a  crown 
of  thorns.  But  her  thoughts  were  not  of  them.  The 
loss  of  early  hopes,  the  blight  of  only  love,  was  the 
theme  en  v.hich  her  mind  brooded,  like  a  mother 
over  the  tomb  of  her  child.  The  scene  before  her 
— its  vast  extent — the  dying  splendour  of  the  sun — 
the  deep  pureness  of  the  evening  sky — the  sublimity 
of  the  silence — all  wrought  upon  her  mind  ;  and 
while  she  thought  of  all  the  fairy  hopes  she  had 
nourished  from  her  youth,  while  she  dreamed,  over 
again,  all  the  dreams  she  had  indulged  of  one  on 
whose  fame,  on  whose  honour,  on  whose  truth  she 
had  fondly,  rashly  raised  every  wish  of  her  future 
life;  and  while  new-born  fears  and  doubts  came 
sweeping  away  the  whole, — the  tears  rose  glisten- 
ing in  her  eyes,  and  rolled,  drop  after  drop,  down 
her  cheeks. 

"  Pauline  !"  said  a  voice  close  behind  her.  She 
started,  turned  towards  the  speaker,  and  with  an 
impulse  stronger  than  volition,  held  out  her  hand 
to  Claude  de  Blenau.  "Pauline,"  said  he,  printing 
a  warm  kiss  on  the  Boft  white  hand  that  he  held 


102  RICHELIEU. 

in  his,  "  dear,  beautiful  Pauline,  we  have  met  at 
last." 

From  the  moment  he  had  spoken,  Pauline  resolv- 
ed to  believe  him  as  immaculate  as  any  human  be- 
ing ever  was  since  the  first  meeting  of  Adam  and 
Eve;  but  still  she  wanted  him  to  tell  her  so.  It 
was  not  coquetry  5  but  she  was  afraid  that  after 
what  she  had  seen,  and  what  she  had  heard,  she 
ought  not  to  be  satisfied, — common  propriety,  she 
thought,  required  that  she  should  be  jealoin  till 
such  time  as  he  proved  to  her  that  she  had  no  right 
to  be  so.  She  turned  pale,  and  red,  and  drew  back 
her  hand  without  reply. 

De  Blenau  gazed  on  her  for  a  moment  in  silent 
astonishment ;  for,  young,  and  ardent,  and  strongfy 
tinged  with  that  romantic  spirit  of  gallantry  which 
Anne  of  Austria  had  introduced  from  Spain  into  the 
court  of  France,  the  whole  enthusiasm  of  his  heart 
had  been  turned  towards  Pauline  de  Beaumont ;  and 
he  had  thought  of  her  the  more,  perhaps,  because 
forbid  to  think  of  her.  JSor  had  the  romance  he 
had  worked  up  in  his  own  mind  admitted  a  particle 
of  the  cold  ceremonies  of  courtly  etiquette  ;  he  had 
loved  to  figure  it  as  something  apart  from  the  world. 
A  life  with  her  he  loved,  of  ardour,  and  passion, 
and  sunshiny  hours,  unclouded  by  a  regret,  unchiled 
by  a  reserve,  but  all  boundless  confidence,  and  un- 
restrained affection  :  such  had  been  the  purport  of 
his  letters  to  Pauline  de  Beaumont,  and  such 
had  been  the  colouring  of  her  replies  to  him. 
And  who  is  there  that  has  not  dreamed  so  once  ? 

De  Blenau  gazed  on  her  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
"  Do  you  not  speak  to  me,  Pauline  T"  said  heat 
length.  "  Or  is  it  that  you  do  not  know  me  ?  True, 
true  !  years  work  a  great  change  at  our  time  of  life. 
But  I  had  fancied — perhaps  foolishly  fancied — that 
Pauline  de  Beaumont  would  know  Claude  de  Ble- 
nau wheresoever  they  met,  as  well  as  De  Blenau 
would  know  her." 

While  he  epoke,  Pauline  knew  not  well  what  to 


do  with  her  eyes ;  so  she  turned  them  towards  the 
terrace,  and  they  fell  upon  Mademoiselle  de  Haule- 
Ford,  who  was  walking  slowly  along  before  the  pal- 
ace. Less  things  than  that  have  caused  greater 
events  in  this  world  than  a  renewal  of  all  Pauline's 
doubts.  Doubts  did  I  call  them  ?  Before  Made- 
moiselle de  Hauteford,  with  all  the  graceful  dignity 
for  which  she  was  conspicuous,  had  taken  three 
iteps  along  the  terrace,  Pauline's  doubts  had  be- 
come almost  certainties  ;  and  turning  round,  with 
what  she  fancied  to  be  great  composure,  she  repli- 
ed, "  I  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  you  perfectly. 
Monsieur  de  Blenau  ;  I  hope  you  have  entirely  re- 
covered from  your  late  wounds." 

"  Monsieur  de  Blenau  ! — The  pleasure  of  know- 
ing me  !'■'  exclaimed  the  count.  "  Good  God,  is 
this  my  reception  ?  JSot  three  months  have  gone 
since  your  letters  flattered  me  with  the  title  of 
*  Dear  Claude.' — My  wounds  are  better,  Mademoi- 
selle de  Beaumont,  but  you  seem  inclined  to  inflict 
others  of  a  more  painful  nature." 

Pauline  strove  to  be  composed,  and  strove  to  re- 
ply, but  it  was  all  in  vain ;  Nature  would  have  way, 
and  she  burst  into  tears  and  sobbed  aloud.  "  Pau- 
line, dearest  Pauline  !"  cried  De  Blenau,  catching 
her  to  his  bosom  unrepulsed  :  "  This  must  be  some 
mistake — calm  yourself,  dear  girl,  and,  in  the  name 
of  Heaven,  tell  me,  what  means  this  conduct  to  one 
who  loves  you  as  I  do  !•' 

"  One  who  loves  me,  Claude  !"  replied  Pauline, 
wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes  5  "Oh  no,  no — But 
what  right  had  I  to  think  that  you  would  love  me  ? 
None,  none,  1  will  allow.  Separated  from  each 
other  so  long,  I  had  no  title  to  suppose  that  you 
would  ever  think  of  the  child  to  whom  you  were 
betrothed,  but  of  whom  you  were  afterward  com- 
manded not  to  entertain  a  remembrance — would 
think  of  her,  after  those  engagements  were  broken 
by  a  power  you  could  not  choose  but  obey.  But 
still,  De  Blenau,  you  should  not  have  written  those 
letters  filled  with  professions  of  regard,  and  vows 


104  RICHELIEU. 

to  retain  the  engagements  your  father  had  formed 
for  you,  notwithstanding  the  new  obstacles  which 
had  arisen.  You  should  not,  indeed,  unless  you 
had  been  very  sure  of  your  own  heart ;  for  it  was 
cruelly  trifling  with  mine,"  and  she  gently  disen- 
gaged herself  from  his  arms. — "  1  only  blame  you," 
Bhe  added,  "  for  ever  trying  to  gain  my  affection, 
and  not  for  now  being  wanting  in  love  to  a  person 
you  have  never  seen  since  she  was  a  child.'" 

"Never  seen  you  !"  replied  De  Blenau,  with  a 
smile  :  '*'  Pauline,  you  are  as  mistaken  in  that,  as  in 
any  doubt  you  have  of  me.  A  year  has  not  passed 
since  last  we  met.  Remember  that  summer  sunset 
on  the  banks  of  the  Rhone  :  remember  the  masked 
cavalier  who  gave  you  the  ring  now  on  your  finger  : 
remember  the  warm  hills  of  Languedoc,  glowing 
with  a  blush  only  equalled  by  your  cheek,  when  he 
told  you  that  that  token  was  sent  by  one  who  loved 
you  dearly,  and  would  love  you  ever — that  it  came 
from  Claude  de  Blenau,  who' had  bid  him  place  the 
ring  on  your  finger,  and  a  kiss  on  your  hand,  and 
renew  the  vow  that  he  had  long  before  pledged  to 
you. — Pauline,  Pauline,  it  was  himself." 

"  But  why,  dear  Claude,"  demanded  Pauline, 
eagerly,  forgetting  coldness  and  pride  and  suspicion, 
in  the  memory  of  his  words  called  up,  "  why  did 
you  not  tell  me  ?  why  did  you  not  let  me  know  that 
it  was  you  ?" 

"  Because  if  I  had  been  discovered,"  answered  the 
count,  "  it  might  have  cost  me  my  life,  years  of  im- 
prisonment in  the  Bastille,  or  worse — the  destruc- 
tion of  her  I  loved  ?  The  slightest  cry  of  surprise 
from  you  might  have  betrayed  me." 

"  But  how  did  you  escape,  without  your  journey 
being  known  ?"  demanded  Pauline  ;  "  they  say  in 
Languedoc,  that  the  cardinal  has  bribed  the  evil 
spirits  of  the  air  to  be  his  spies  on  men's  actions." 

"  It  is  difficult  indeed  to  say  how  he  acquires  his 
information,"  replied  De  Blenau  ;  "  but,  however,  I 

Eassed  undiscovered.     It  was  thus  it  happened  :     1 
ad  gone  as  a  volunteer  to  the  siege  qf  Perpignan, 


RICHELIEU.  lOS 

or  rather,  as  one  of  the  Arriere-ban  of  Languedoc, 
which  was  led  by  the  young  and  gallant  Due  d'Eng- 
hien,  to  whom,  after  a  long  resistance,  that  city  de- 
livered its  keys.  As  soon  as  the  place  had  surren- 
dered, 1  asked  permission  to  absent  myself  for  a 
few  days.  His  highness  granted  it  immediately, 
and  1  set  out.  For  what  think  you,  Pauline  ?  what, 
but  to  visit  that  spot,  round  which  all  the  hopes  of 
my  heart  all  the  dreams  of  my  imagination,  had 
hovered  for  many  a  year.  But  to  proceed, — taking 
the  two  first  stages  of  my  journey  towards  Paris,  I 
suddenly  changed  my  course,  and  embarking  on  the 
Rhone,  descended  as  far  as  the  Chateau  de  Beau- 
mont. You  remember,  that  my  page,  Henry  La 
Mothe,  is  the  son  of  your  mother's  fermier,  old  La 
Mothe,  and  doubtless  know  full  well  his  house 
among  the  oaks,  on  the  borders  of  the  great  wood. 
It  was  here  I  took  up  my  abode,  and  formed  a  thou- 
sand plans  of  seeing  you  undiscovered.  At  length 
fortune  favoured  me.  Oh  !  how  my  heart  beat  as, 
standing  by  one  of  the  trees  in  the  long  avenue, 
Henry  first  pointed  out  to  me  two  figures  coming 
slowly  down  ihe  path  from  the  chateau — yourself 
and  your  mother, — and  as,  approaching  towards  me, 
they  gradually  grew  more  and  more  distinct,  my 
impatience  almost  overpowered  me,  and  1  believe  1 
should  have  started  forward  to  meet  you,  had  not 
Henry  reminded  me  of  the  danger.  You  passed 
close  by. — Oh  Pauline  !  I  had  indulged  many  a  wak- 
ing dream.  I  had  let  fancy  deck  you  in  a  thousand 
imaginary  charms — but  at  that  moment,  I  found  all 
that  1  had  imagined,  or  dreamed,  a  thousand  times 
excelled.  I  found  the  beautiful  girl,  that  had  been 
torn  from  me  so  many  years  before,  grown  into 
woman's  most  surpassing  loveliness  ;  and  the  charms 
which  fancy  and  memory  had  scattered  from  their 
united  stores,  faded  away  before  the  reality,  like 
stars  on  the  rising  of  the  sun.  But  this  was  not  en- 
ough. I  watched  my  opportunity.  I  saw  you,  as 
you  walked  alone  on  the  terrace,  by  the  side  of  the 
glittering  Rhone,— I  spoke  to  you,— I   heard  the 


106  RICHELIEU, 

tones  of  a  voice  to  be  remembered  for  many  an 
after  hour,  and  placing  the  pledge  of  my  affection 
on  your  hand,  I  tore  myself  away" 

De  Blenau  paused.  Insensibly,  why  he  was 
speaking,  Pauline  had  suffered  his  arm  again  to  glide 
round  her  waist.  Her  hand  somehow  became 
clasped  in  his,  and  as  he  told  the  tale  of  his  affec- 
tion, the  tears  of  many  a  mingled  emotion  rolled 
over  the  dark  lashes  of  her  eye,  and  chasing  one 
another  down  her  cheek,  fell  upon  the  lip  of  her 
lover,  as  he  pressed  a  kiss  upon  the  warm  sunny 
spot  which  those  drops  bedewed. 

De  Blenau  saw  that  those  tears  were  not  tears  of 
sorrow,  and  had  love  been  with  him  an  art,  he 
probably  would  have  sought  no  farther  5  for  in  the 
whole  economy  of  life,  but  more  especially  in  that 
soft  passion,  Love,  holds  good  the  homely  maxim, 
to  let  well  alone.  But  De  Blenau  was  not  satisfied} 
and  like  a  foolish  youth,  he  teased  Pauline  to  know 
why  she  had  at  first  received  him  so  coldly.  In 
good  truth,  she  had  by  this  time  forgotten  all  about 
it  5  but  as  she  was  obliged  to  answer,  she  soon 
again  conjured  up  all  her  doubts  and  suspicions. 
She  hesitated,  drew  her  hand  from  that  of  the  count, 
blushed  deeper  and  deeper,  and  twice  began  to 
speak  without  ending  her  sentence. 

"  I  know  not  what  to  think,"  said  she  at  length, 
"De  Blenau:  I  would  fain  believe  you  to  be  all 
you  seem, — I  would  fain  reject  every  doubt  of  what 
you  say." 

Her  coldness,  her  hesitation,  her  «mbarrassment, 
alarmed  De  Blenau's  fears,  and  he  too  began  to  be 
suspicious. 

"On  what  can  you  rest  a  doubt?"  demanded  he, 
with  a  look  of  bitter  mortification  ;  and  perceiving 
that  she  still  paused,  he  added  sadly,  but  coldly, 
"  Mademoiselle  de  Beaumont,  you  are  unkind.  Can 
it  be  that  you  are  attached  to  another  ?  Say,  am  I 
so  unhappy  ?" 

"^o,  De  Blenau,  no!"  replied  Pauline,  strug- 
gling for  firmness  :  "  but  answer  me  one  question, 


RKHELIHU.  107 

explain  to  me  but  this  one  thing,  and  I  am  satisfi- 
ed." 

"  Ask  mo  any  question,  propose  to  me  any 
doubts,"  answered  the  count, "  and  I  will  reply  truly, 
upon  my  honour." 

"Then  tell  me,"  said  Pauline,— But  just  as  she 
was  about  to  proceed,   she  felt  some   difficulty  in 

Eroposing  her  doubts.  She  had  a  thousand  times 
efore  convinced  herself  they  were  very  serious 
and  well  founded ;  but  all  jealous  suspicions  look 
so  very  foolish  in  black  and  white,  or  what  is  quite 
as  good,  in  plain  language,  though  they  may  seem 
very  respectable  when  seen  through  the  twilight  of 
passion,  that  Pauline  knew  not  very  well  how  to 
give  utterance  to  hers.  "  Then  tell  me,"  said  Pau- 
line, with  no  small  hesitation — "  then  tell  me,  what 
was  the  reason  you  would  suffer  no  one  to  open 
your  hunting-coat,  when  you  were  wounded  in  the 
forest — no,  not  even  to  stanch  the  bleeding  of  your 
side  ?  ' 

"  There  was  a  reason,  certainly,"  replied  de  Ble- 
nau,  not  very  well  perceiving  the  connexion  be- 
tween his  hunting-coat  and  Pauline's  coldness  : 
"  there  was  a  reason,  certainly  ;  but  how  in  the 
name  of  Heaven  does  that  affect  you,  Pauline  V 

"  You  shall  see  by  my  next  question,"  answered 
she.  "  Have  you  or  have  you  not  received  a  letter, 
privately  conveyed  to  you  from  a  lady  ?  and  has  not 
Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford  visited  you  secretly 
during  your  illness  ?" 

It  was  now  De  Blenau's  turn  to  become  embar- 
rassed ;  he  faltered,  and  looked  confused,  and  for  a 
moment  his  cheek,  which  had  hitherto  been  pale 
with  the  loss  of  blood,  became  of  the  deepest  crim- 
son, while  he  replied,  "  I  did  not  know  that  I  was 
BO  watched." 

"  It  is  enough.  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  said  Pau- 
line, rising,  h«r  doubts  almost  aggravated  to  cer- 
tainties. "  To  justify  myself,  sir,  I  will  tell  you 
that  you  have  not  been  watched.  Pauline  de  Beau- 
mont would  consider  that  man  unworthy  of  her  af- 


108  RICHELIEtr. 

fection,  whose  conduct  would  require  watching. 
What  I  know  has  come  to  my  ears  by  mere  acci- 
dent. In  fact,'"  and  her  voice  trembled  the  more, 
perhaps,  that  she  strove  to  preserve  its  steadiness 
— "  in  fact,  I  have  become  acquainted  with  a  pain- 
ful truth  through  my  too  great  kindess  for  you,  in 
sending  my  own  servant  to  inquire  after  your  health, 
and  not  to  watch  you,  Monsieur  de  Blenau." 

"  Stop,  stop,  Pauline  j  in  pity,  stop,"  cried  De 
Blenau,  seeing  her  about  to  depart.  "  Your  ques- 
tions place  me  in  the  most  embarrassing  of  situa- 
tions. But,  on  my  soul,  1  have  never  suffered  a 
thought  to  stray  from  you,  and  yourself  will  one  day 
do  me  justice.  But  at  present,  on  this  point,  I  am 
bound  by  every  principle  of  duty  and  honour,  not  to 
attempt  an  exculpation," 

"jN'one  is  necessary,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  re- 
plied Pauline.  "  Jt  is  much  better  to  understand 
each  other  at  once.  1  have  no  right  to  any  control 
over  you.  You  are  of  course  free,  and  at  liberty  lo 
follow  the  bent  of  your  own  inclinations.  Adieu  ! 
I  shall  always  wish  your  welfare."  And  she  was 
qutting  the  apartment,  but  De  Blenau  still  detained 
'her,  though  she  gently  strove  to  withdraw  her 
hand. 

"  Yet  one  moment,  Pauline,"  said  he.  "  You 
were  once  kind,  you  were  generous,  you  have  more 
than  once  assured  me  of  your  affection.  Now,  tell 
me,  did  you  bestow  that  affection  on  a  man  destitute 
of  honour  ?  on  a  man  who  would  sully  his  fame  by 
pledging  his  faith  to  what  was  false  1"  Pauline's 
hand  remained  in  his  without  an  effort,  and  he  went 
on.  "  1  now  pledge  you  my  faith,  and  give  you  my 
honour,  however  strange  it  may  appear  that  a  lady 
should  visit  me  in  private,  I  have  nerer  loved  or 
sought,  any  but  yourself.  Pauline,  do  you  doubt  me 
now  !" 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  ground,  and  she  did 
not  reply,  but  there  was  a  slight  motion  in  the  hand 
he  held,  as  if  it  would  fain  have  returned  his  pres- 
sure had  she  dared.    "I  could,"  he  continued, 


RICHELIETJ.  109 

"within  an  hour,  obtain  permission  to  explain  it  all. 
But  oh,  Pauline,  how  much  happier  would  it  make 
me  to  find,  that  you  trust  alone  to  my  word,  tliat 
you  put  full  confidence  in  a  heart  tliat  loves  you  !"' 

"  I  do  !  Ido!"  exclaimed  Pauline,  with  all  her 
own  wild  energy,  at  the  same  time  placing  her 
other  hand  also  on  his,  and  raising  her  eyes  to  his 
fa«e  :  "  Say  no  more,  De  Blenau.  I  believe  I  have 
been  wrong;  at  all  events,  I  cannot.  1  will  not 
doubt,  what  makes  me  so  happy  to  believe.''  And 
her  eyes,  which  again  filled  with  tears,  were  hid- 
den on  his  bosom. 

De  Blenau  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  again 
and  again  thanked  the  lips  that  had  spoken  such 
kind  words,  in  the  way  that  such  lips  may  best  be 
thanked.  "Dearest  Pauline,"  said  De  Blenau.  af- 
ter enjoying  a  moment  or  two  of  that  peculiar  hap- 
piness which  shines  but  once  or  twice  even  in  the 
brightest  existence,  giving  a  momentary  taste  of 
heaven,  and  then  losing  itself,  either  in  human 
cares,  or  less  vivid  joys.  The  heart  is  a  garden, 
and  youth  is  its  spring,  and  hope  is  its  sunshine, 
and  love  is  a  thorny  plant,  that  grows  up  and  bears 
one  bright  flower,  which  has  nothing  like  it  in  all 
the  earth — 

"  Dearest  Pauline,"  said  De  Blenau,  "  1  leave  you 
for  a  time,  that  1  may  return  and  satisfy  every  doubt. 
Within  one  hour  all  shall  be  explained." 

As  he  spoke,  the  door  of  the  apartment  opsneu, 
and  one  of  the  servants  of  the  palace  entered,  with 
a  face  of  some  alarm.  "  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  said 
he,  "  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons  for  intruding,  but 
there  have  been,  but  now.  at  the  palace  gate,  two 
men  of  the  cardinal's  guard  inquiring  for  you  :  so  I 
told  them  that  you  were  most  likely  at  the  other 
side  of  the  park,  for — for — '''  and  after  hesitating  a 
moment,  he  added,  "They  are  the  same  who  ar- 
rested Monsieur  de  Vitry."' 

De  Blenau  started,  "  Fly,  fly,  Claude  !"  exclaim- 
ed Pauline,  catching  him  eagerly  by  the  arm — '  Oh 


110  RICHELIEU. 

fly,  dear  Claude,  while  there  is  yet  time.  ■  I  am 
sure  they  seek  some  evil  towards  you." 

"  You  have  done  well,''  said  De  Blenau  to  the 
attendant.  "  I  will  speak  to  you  as  I  come  down. 
Dearest  Pauline,"  he  continued,  when  the  man  was 
gone^  "  I  must  see  what  these  gentlemen  want. 
Nay,  do  not  look  frightened ;  you  are  mistaken 
about  their  errand.  I  have  nothing  to  fear,  believe 
me.  Some  trifling  business,  no  doubt.  In  the  mean 
time,  I  shall  not  neglect  my  original  object.  In 
half  an  hour  all  your  doubts  shall  be  satisiied." 

'•I  have  none,  Claude,"  replied  Pauline;  "in- 
deed I  have  none,  but  about  these  men." 

De  Blenau  endeavoured  to  calm  her,  and  assur- 
ed her  again  and  again  that  there  was  no  danger. 
But  Pauline  was  not  easy,  and  the  count  himself 
had  more  suspicions  concerning  their  objeet  than 
he  would  suffer  to  appear. 


i 


RICHELISU.  llj 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Con(aining  a  great  deal  that  would  not  have  been  said  had  U 
not  been  neccssafy. 

In  front  of  the  Palace  of  St.  Germain's,  but  con- 
cealed from  the  park  and  terrace  by  an  angle  of  the 
building,  stood  the  Count  de  Chavigni,  apparently 
engaged  in  the  very  undignified  occupation  of  mak- 
ing love  to  a  pretty-looking  soubrette,  no  other  than 
Louise,  the  waiting-maid  of  Mademoiselle  de  Beau- 
mont. But,  notwithstanding  the  careless  noncha- 
lance with  which  he  affected  to  address  her,  it  was 
evident  that  he  had  some  deeper  object  in  view 
than  the  trifling  of  an  idle  hour. 

"  Well,  ma  belle,"  said  he,  after  a  few  words  of 
a  more  tender  nature,  "  you  are  sure  the  surgeon 
said,  though  the  wound  is  in  his  side,  hit  heart  is 
uninjur«d" 

"  Yes,  exactly,"  said  Louise,  "  word  for  word  j 
and  the  queen  answered,  '  I  understand  you,'  But 
1  cannot  think  why  you  are  so  curious  about  it." 

''  Because  I  take  an  interest  in  the  young  count," 
replied  Chavigni.  *•'  But  his  heart  must  be  very 
hard  if  it  can  resist  such  eyes  as  yours." 

"  He  never  saw  them,"  said  Louise,  "  for  I  was 
not  with  my  lady  when  they  picked  him  up  wound- 
ed in  the  forest." 

"So  much  the  better,"  replied  Chavigni,  "for 
that  is  he  turning  that  angle  of  the  palace  :  I  must 
speak  to  him  ;  so  farewell,  bcUe  Louise,  and  remem- 
ber ihe  signal. — Go  through  that  door,  and  he  will 
not  see  you." 

Speaking  thus,  Chavigni  left  her,  and  a  few  steps 
brought  him  up  to  De  Blenau,  who  at  that  moment 
traversed  the  angle  in  which  he  had  been  standing 


11 J  RICHELIEU. 

with  Louise,  and  was  hurrying  on  with  a  rapid  pace 
in  search  of  the  queen. 

"  Good  morrow,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  said  Cha- 
vigni  :  "  you  seem  in  haste." 

"  And  am  so,  sir,"  replied  De  Elenau,  proudly  5 
and  added,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  Have  you  any 
commands  for  me  V  for  Chavigni  stood  directly  in 
his  way, 

''  J^one  in  particular,"  answered  the  other,  with 
perfect  composure — '-'only  if  you  are  seeking  the 
queen,  I  will  go  with  you  to  her  majesty}  and  as 
we  go,  I  will  tell  you  a  piece  of  news  you  may  per- 
haps like  to  hear."" 

"  Sir  Count  de  Chavigni,  I  beg  you  would  mark 
me,  replied  De  Blenau.  '•  You  are  one  of  the 
king's  council — a  gentleman  of  good  repute,  and  so 
forth  5  but  there  is  not  that  love  between  us  that 
we  should  be  seen  taking  our  evening's  walk  to- 
gether, unless,  indeed,  it  were  for  the  purpose  of 
using  our  weapons  more  than  our  tongues." 

"  indeed,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  rejoined  Cha- 
vigni, his  lip  curling  into  a  smile  which  partook 
more  of  good-humour  than  scorn,  though,  perhaps, 
mingled  somewhat  qf  each — ■'•  indeed  you  do  not  do 
me  justice  ;  I  love  you  better  than  you  know,  and 
may  have  an  opportunity  of  doing  you  a  g-ood  turn 
some  day,  whether  you  will  or  not.  So  with  your 
leave  I  walk  with  you,  for  we  both  seek  the 
queen." 

De  Blenau  was  provoked.  "  Must  I  tell  you,  sir," 
exclaimed  he,  "  that  your  company  is  disagreeable 
to  me  ? — that  1  do  not  like  the  society  of  men  who 
herd  with  robbers  and  assassins  V 

"  Psha  T'  exclaimed  Chavigni,  somewhat  peevish- 
ly. "  Captious  boy,  you'll  get  yourself  into  the 
Bastille  some  day,  where  you  would  have  been  long 
ago,  had  it  not  been  for  me." 

"  When  you  tell  me,  sir,  how  such  obligations 
have  been  incurred,"  answered  the  count,  "  1  shall 
be  happy  to  acknowledge  them." 

"  Why,  twenty  times,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,  you 


RICHEimtf.  113 

have  nearly  been  put  there/'  replied  Chavigni,  with 
that  air  of  candour  which  it  is  very  difficult  to  affect 
when  it  is  not  genuine.  "  Your  hot  and  boiling 
spirit,  sir,  is  always  running  you  into  danger.  JNot- 
withstanding  all  your  late  wounds,  a  little  bleeding, 
even  now,  would  not  do  you  any  harm.  Here  the 
first  thing  you  do  is  to  quarrel  with  a  man  who  has 
served  you,  is  disposed  to  serve  you,  and  of  whose 
service  you  may  stand  in  need  within  five  min- 
utes. 

"  But  to  give  you  proof  at  once  that  what  1  ad- 
vance is  more  than  a  mere  jest — Do  you  think  that 
your  romantic  expedition  to  Languedoc  escaped 
me?  Monsieur  de  Blenau,  you  start, -as  if  you 
dreamed  that  in  such  a  country  as  this,  and  under 
such  an  administration,  any  thing  could  take  place 
without  being  known  to  some  member  of  the  gov- 
ernment. JSo,  no,  sir  !  there  are  many  people  in 
France,  even  now,  who  think  they  are  acting  in 
perfect  security,  because  no  notice  is  apparently 
taken  of  the  plans  they  are  forming,  or  the  intrigues 
they  are  carrying  on  ;  while,  in  reality,  the  hun- 
dred eyes  of  Policy  are  upon  their  every  action,  and 
the  sword  is  only  suspended  over  their  heads,  that 
it  may  eventually  fall  with  more  severity." 

"  You  surprise  me,  1  ovv-n,"  replied  De  Blenau, 
"  by  showing  me  that  you  are  acquainted  with  an 
adventure,  which  I  thought  buried  in  my  own  bo- 
som, or  only  confided  to  one  equally  faithful  to 
me." 

"You  mean  your  page,"  said  Chavigni,  with  the 
same  easy  tone  in  whicii  he  had  spoken  all  along. 
"  You  have  no  cause  to  doubt  him.  He  has  never 
betrayed  you  (at  least  to  my  knowledge.)  But 
these  things  come  about  very  simply,  without 
treachery  on  any  part.  The  stag  never  flies  so  fast, 
nor  the  hare  doubles  so  often,  but  they  leave  a 
scent  behind  them  for  the  dogs  to  follow, — nnd  so 
it  is  with  the  actions  of  man  ;  conceal  them  as  lie 
will,  there  is  always  some  trace  by  which  thev  may 
vol..  I.  8  " 


114  RICHELIEW. 

be  discovered ;  and  it  is  no  secret  lo  any  one,  now- 
a-days,  that  there  are  people  in  every  situation  of 
life,  in  every  town  of  France,  paid  to  give  informa- 
tion of  all  that  happens;  so  that  the  schemes  must 
be  well  concealed  indeed,  which  some  circum- 
stance does  not  discover,  i  see,  you  shake  your 
head,  as  if  you  disapproved  of  the  principle. 

"  De  Blenau,  you  and  1  are  engaged  in  different 
parties.  You  act  firmly  convinced  of  the  rectitude 
of  your  own  cause  3  do  me  the  justice  to  believe 
that  I  do  the  same.  You  hate  the  minister — I  ad- 
mire him,  and  feel  fully  certain  that  all  he  does  is 
for  the  good  of  the  state.  On  the  other  hand.  I  ap- 
plaud your  courage,  your  devotion  to  the  cause  you 
have  espoused,  and  your  proud  unbending  spirit ; 
and  I  would  bring  you  to  the  scaffold  to-morrow,  if 
I  thought  it  would  really  serve  the  party  to  which  I 
am  attached." 

The  interesting  nature  of  this  conversation,  and 
the  bold  candour  it  displayed,  had  made  De  Blenau 
tolerate  Chavigni's  society  longer  than  he  had  in- 
tended ;  and  even  his  dislike  to  the  statesman  had 
in  a  degree  worn  away  before  the  easy  digoity  and 
frankness  of  his  manner.  But  still  he  did  not  like 
to  be  seen  holding  any  kind  of  companionship  with 
one  of  the  queen's  professed  enemies  j  and,  taking 
advantage  of  the  first  pause,  replied, 

"  You  are  frank,  Monsieur  de  Chavigni,  but  my 
head  is  well  where  it  is.  And  now  may  I  ask,  to 
what  does  all  this  tend  V 

"  You  need  not  hurry  the  conversation  to  a  con- 
clusion," replied  Chavigni.  •'  You  see  that  we  are 
in  direct  progress  towards  the  part  of  the  park 
where  her  majesty  is  most  likely  to  be  found."  But 
seeing  that  De  Blenau  seemed  impatient  of  such  re- 
ply, he  proceeded  :  ''  However,  as  you  wish  to 
know  to  what  rny  conve  satioa  tend^,  1  will  tell 
you.  If  you  please,  it  tends  to  your  own  good.  The 
cardinal  wishes  to  see  you — '' 

He  pTusocI,  and  e'ar.ced  his  evo  over  the  counte- 
nance ot  his  c()ini);inion  ;  from  wiiich,  however,  """ 


'i 


RlOHEtlEW.  Hi 

could  gather  no  reply,  a  slight  frown  being  all  the 
emotion  that  was  visible. 

Chavigni  then  proceeded:  "The  cardinal  wishes 
to  see  you.  He  entertains  some  suspicion  of  you. 
If  you  will  take  my  advice,  you  will  set  out  for  Pa- 
ris immediately,  wait  upon  his  eminence,  and  be 
frank  with  him  ;  nay,  do  not  start  I  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  betray  any  one's  secrets,  or  violate  your  own 
honour.     Bui  be  wise,  set  out  instantly.*' 

"  I  suspected  something  of  this,"  replied  De 
Blenau,  "  when  1  heard  that  there  were  strangers 
inquiring  for  me.  But  whatever  I  do,  I  must  first 
see  the  queen  j"  and  observing  that  Chavigni  was 
about  to  ofter  some  opposition,  he  added  decidedly, 
*'  It  is  absolutely  necessary — on  business  of  impor- 
tance." 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  Chavigni,  "  is  it  of  importance 
to  h«r  majesty  or  yourself  2" 

"  1  have  no  objection  to  answer  that  at  once,"  re- 
plied De  Blenau  :  ''it  concerns  myself  alone." 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  cried  Chavigni,  laying  his 
hand  on  the  count's  arm,  and  pausing  in  the  middle 
of  the  avenue,  at  the  fairther  extremity  of  which  a 
group  of  three  or  four  persons  was  seen  approach- 
ing. "  No  business  can  be  of  more  importance  than 
that  on  which  I  advise  you  to  go.  Monsieur  de 
Blenau,  I  would  save  you  pain.  Let  me  once  more 
press  you  to  set  out  without  having  any  farther  con- 
versation with  her  majesty  than  the  mere  etiquette 
of  taking  leave  for  a  day." 

De  Blenau  well  knew  the  danger  which  he  incur- 
red, but  still  he  could  not  resolve  to  go  without 
clearing  the  doubts  of  Pauline,  which  five  minutes' 
coaversation  with  the  queen  would  enable  him  to 
do  "It  is  impossible,"  replied  he,  thoughtfully j 
'•besides,  let  the  cardinal  send  for  me.  I  do  not 
see  v/hy  I  should  walk  with  my  eyes  open  into  the 
deii  of  a  lion." 

"  Well  then,  sir,"  answered  Chavigni,  with  some- 
what more  of  coldness  in  his  manner,  "  I  must  tell 
you,  his  eminence  has  sent  for  you,  and  that,  per- 


lit  RIOHBLIBV. 

baps,  in  a  way  that  may  not  suit  the  pride  of  yoaf 
dispoiition.  Do  you  see  those  three  men  that  arc 
coming  down  the  avenue  ?  they  are  not  here  with- 
out an  object.  Come,  once  more,  what  say  you, 
Monsieur  le  Comte  ?  Go  with  me  to  take  leave  of 
the  queen,  for  1  must  suffer  no  private  conversa- 
tion. Let  us  then  mount  our  horses,  and  ride  as 
friends  to  Paris.  There  pay  your  respects  to  the 
cardinal,  and  take  ChavignCs  word  that,  unless  you 
•uffer  the  heat  of  your  temper  to  betray  you  into 
any  thing  unbecoming,  you  shall  return  safe  to  St. 
Germain's  before  to-morrow  evening.  If  not,thingt 
must  take  their  course." 

"  You  offer  me^fair,  sir,"  replied  the  count,  "  if  I 
understand  you  rightly,  that  the  cardinal  has  sent  U> 
arrest  me  5  and  of  course  I  cannot  hesitate  to  ac- 
cept your  proposal.  I  have  no  particular  partiality 
for  the  Bastile,  1  can  assure  you.'" 

*'  Then  you  consent  V  said  Chavigni.  De  Blenau 
bowed  his  head.  "  Well,  then,  I  will  speak  to  these 
gentlemen,''  he  added,  "  and  they  will  give  us  their 
room." 

By  this  time  the  three  persons,  who  had  continu- 
ed  to   advance  down  ihe  avenue,  had  approached 
within  th«  distance  of  a  few  paces  of  Chovigni  and 
the  count.     Two  of  them  were  dressed  in  the  uni- 
form of  the  cardinal's  guard  ;  one  as  atimple  troop- 
er, the  other  being  the  lieutenant  who  bore  the  let- 
tre  de  cachet  for  the  arrest  of  Dc  Blenau.    The  third 
we  have  had  some  occasion  to  notice  in  the  wood 
of  Mantts,  being  no  other  than  the  tall  Norman  who 
on  that  occasion  was  found  in  a  rusty  buff  jerkin, 
consorting  with  the  banditti.     His  appearance,  how- 
ever, was  now  very  much  changed   for  the   better. 
The  neat  trimming  of  his  beard  and  mustaches,  the  I 
■mart  turn  of  his  broad  beaver,  the  flush  newness  of  I 
his  long-waisted  blu«  silk  vest,  and  even  the  hang-  ' 
ing  of  his  sword,  which,  instead  of  offering  its  hilt  ■ 
on  the  left  hip,  ev«r  ready  for  the  hand,  now  swung 
far  behind,  with  the   tip'  of  the  scabbard  striking 
against  the  right  calf— all  denoting  a  change  of  trade 


RICrtELlBn.  117 

and  circumstances,  from  the  poor  bravo  who  won  his 
daily  meal  at  the  sword's  point,  to  the  well-paid 
b«lly  who  fattered  at  his  lord's  second  table,  on  the 
merit  of  services  mora  real  than  apparent. 

De  Blenau's  eye  fixed  full  upon  the  Norman,  cer- 
tain that  he  had  seen  him  somewhere  before  ;  but 
the  change  of  dress  and  circumstances  embarrassed 
his  recollection. 

In  the  mean  while  Chivigni  advanced  to  the  car- 
dinal's officer.  "  Monsieur  Chaxcville,"  said  he,  "  fa- 
vour me  by  preceding  me  to  his  eminence  of  Riche- 
lieu. Offer  him  my  salutation,  and  inform  him  that 
Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Blenau  and  myself  intend  to 
wait  upon  him  this  afternoon." 

Chauville  bowed  and  passed  on,  while  the  Nor- 
man, uncovering  hie  head  to  Chavigni,  instantly 
brought  back  to  the  mind  of  De  Blenau  thecircum- 
fltances  under  which  he  had  first  seen  him. 

"  You  have  returned,  I  see,"  said  Chavigni. 
^  Have  you  found  an  occasion  of  fulfilling  my  or- 
ders V 

"To  your  heart's  content,  monseigneur,"  replied 
the  Norman  ;  "  never  was  such  an  astrologer  since 
the  days  of  Intrim  of  Blois." 

"  Hush !"  said  Chavigni,  for  the  other  spoke 
aloud.  "  If  you  have  done  it,  that  is  enough.  But 
for  a  time  keep  yourself  to  Paris,  and  avoid  the 
court,  as  some  one  may  recognise  you,  even  in  these 
fine  new  feathers." 

"  Oh,  I  defy  them,"  replied  the  Norman,  in  a  lower 
tone  than  he  had  formerly  spoken,  but  still  so  loud 
that  De  Blenau  could  not  avoid  hearing  the  greater 
part  of  what  he  said :  "  [  defy  them ;  for  I  was  so 
wrapped  up  in  my  black  robes  and  my  white  beard, 
that  the  devil  himself  would  not  know  me  for  the 
same  mortal  in  the  two  costumes.  But  I  hope, 
Monsieur  le  Comte,  that  my  reward  may  be  equal 
to  the  risk  1  have  run,  for  they  sought  to  stop  me  j 
and  had  I  not  been  too  good  a  necromancer  for 
them,  I  suppose  I  should  have  been  roasting  at  a 
Btake  by  this  time.   But  one  wave  of  wy  magic  wand 


H8  RICHSLIEU. 

•ent  the  sword  of  Monsieur  de  Cinq  Mars  out  of 
his  hand,  and  opened  me  a  passage  to  the  wood  j 
otherwise  I  should  have  fared  but  badly  among 
them." 

"  You  must  not  exact  too  much,  MonsieurlMarte- 
viUe,"  replied  Chavigni.  "  But  we  will  speak  of  thi« 
to-night.  I  shall  be  in  Paris  in  a  few  hours ;  at  pres- 
ent, you  see,  I  am  occupied  5"  and  leaving  the  Nor- 
man, he  rejoined  De  Blenau,  and  proceeded  in 
search  of  the  queen. 

••  If  my  memory  serve  me  right,  Monsieur  de  Cha- 
vigni," saidDe  Blenau,  in  atone  of  some  bitternets, 
"  I  have  seen  that  gentleman  before,  and  with  bis 
sword  shining  at  my  breast." 

"  It  is  very  possible,"  answered  Chavigni,  with  the 
most  indifferent  calmness.  "  I  have  seen  him  in  the 
same  situation  with  repect  to  myself." 

"  Indeed  1"  rejoined  De  Blenau,  with  some  sor- 

Erise  ;  *•  but  probably  not  with  the  same  intention,'* 
e  added. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  statesman,  with  a 
smile.  "  His  intentions  in  my  favour  were  to  run 
me  through  the  body." 

''  And  is  it  possible,  then,"  exclaimed  De  Blenau^ 
"  that  with  such  a  knowledge  of  his  character  and 
habits,  you  can  employ  and  patronise  him  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Chavigni ;  "  I  wanted  a 
bold  villain.  Such  men  are  very  necessary  in  a 
state.  Now,  1  could  not  have  better  proof  that  thi» 
man  had  the  qualities  required,  than  his  attempting 
to  cut  my  throat.  But  you  do  him  some  injustice  j 
be  is  better  than  you  suppose — ia  not  without  f«el- 
ing — and  has  his  own  ideas  of  honour." 

De  Blenau  checked  the  bitter  reply  which  was 
rising  to  his  lips,  and  letting  the  conversatioa  drop, 
they  proceeded  in  silence  in  search  of  the  queen. 
They  had  not  gone  much  farther  when  they  perceiv- 
ed her  leaning  familiarly  on  the  arm  of  Madame  de 
Beaumont,  and  seemingly  occupied  in  some  con- 
versation of  deep  interest.  However,  her  eye  fell 
upon  the  count  and  Chavigoi  as  they  came  up,  and* 


RICHELIEU.  XIJI 

surprised  to  see  them  together;  she  abruptly  paused 
in  what  she  was  saying. 

<'  Look  there,  De  Beaumont,"  said  she  ;  "-some- 
thing is  not  right.  I  have  seen  more  than  one  of 
these  creatures  of  the  cardinal   hanging  about  the 

Eark  to-day.  1  fear  for  poor  De  Blenau.  He  has 
ean  too  faithful  to  his  queen  to  escape  long." 

"  I  salute  your  majesty,"  said  Chavigni,  as  soon 
as  they  had  come  within  a  short  distance  of  th« 
queen,  and  not  giving  De  Blenau  the  time  to  ad- 
dress her  :  "  I  have  been  the  bearer  of  a  message 
from  his  eminence  of  Richelieu  to  Monsieur  de 
Blenau,  your  majesty's  chamberlain,  requesting  the 
pleasure  of  entertaining  him  for  a  day  in  Paris. 
The  count  has  kindly  accepted  the  invitation  j  and 
I  have  promised  that  the  cardinal  shall  not  press 
his  stay  beyond  to-morrow.  We  only  now  want 
your  majesty's  permission  and  good  leave,  which  in 
his  eminence's  name  I  humbly  crave  for  Monsieur 
de  Blenau-" 

"  His  eminence  is  too  condescending,"  replied 
the  queen.  "  He  knows  that  his  will  is  law  j  and 
we,  humble  kings  and  queens,  as  in  duty,  do  him 
reverence.  I  doubt  not  that  his  intentions  towards 
our  chamberlain  are  as  mild  and  amiable  as  his 
general  conduct  towards  ourself." 

"  The  truth  is,  your  majesty,"  said  De  Blenau,  the 
"  cardinal  has  sent  for  me,  and  (however  Monsieur 
de  Chavigni's  politeness  may  colour  it)  in  a  way 
that  compels  my  attendance." 

"  I  thought  so,"  exclaimed  the  queen,  dropping 
the  tone  of  ir»ny  which  she  had  assumed  towards 
Chavigni,  and  looking  with  mingled  grief  and  kind- 
ness upon  the  young  cavalier,  whose  destruction 
she  deemed  inevitable  from  the  moment  that  Riche- 
lieu had  fixed  the  serpent  eyes  of  his  policy  upon 
him  ;  "  1  thought  so.  Alas,  my  poor  De  Blenau  I 
all  that  attach  themselves  to  me  seem  devoted  to 
persecution." 

"Not  so,  your  majesty,"  said  Chavigni,  with 
some  degree  of  feeling  j  "  I  can  assure  you,  Men- 


120  RICHELIEU. 

sieur  de  Blenau  goes  at  perfect  liberty.  He  is  un- 
der no  arrest ;  and,  unless  he  stays  by  his  own  wish, 
will  return  to  your  majesty's  court  to-raorrow  night. 
The  cardinal  is  far  from  wishing  to  give  unueces- 
sary  pain." 

"  Talk  not  to  me,  Sir  Counsellor,"  replied  the 
queen,  angrily  ;  "  do  I  not  know  him  ?  1,  who  of 
all  the  world  have  best  cause  to  estimate  his  base- 
ness ?  Have  I  not  under  his  own  hand  the  proof 
of  his  criminal  ambition  ?  but  no  more  of  that — " 
And  breaking  off  into  Spanish,  as  was  frequently 
her  custom  when  angry,  she  continued,  "  Jso  se  si 
es  la  misma  vanidad,  la  sobervia,  6  la  arrogancia, 
que  todo  esto,  segun  creo  es  el  cardenal."' 

"  It  is  useless,  madara,"  saidDe  Blenau,  as  soon 
as  the  queen  paused  in  her  angry  vituperation  of  the 
minister,  "  to  distress  you  farther  with  this  conver- 
sation. I  know  not  what  the  cardinal  wants,  but 
he  may  rest  assured  that  De  Blenau-'s  heart  is  firm, 
and  that  no  human  means  shall  induce  him  to 
swerve  from  his  duty  5  and  thus  I  humbly  take  my 
leave." 

''  Go  then,  De  Blenau,"  said  the  queen  :  *'  Go, 
and  whether  we  ever  meet  again  or  not,  your  faith- 
ful services  and  zealous  friendship  shall  ever  have 
my  warmest  gratitude  ;  and  Anne  of  Austria  has  no 
other  reward  to  bestow."  Thus  saying,  she  held 
out  her  hand  to  him.  De  Blenau  in  silence  bent  his 
head  respectfully  over  it,  and  turned  away.  Cha- 
vigni  bowed  low,  and  followed  the  count,  to  whose 
hotel  ihey  proceeded,  in  order  to  prepare  for  their 
departure. 

In  the  orders  which  De  Blenau  gave  on  their  ar- 
rival, he  merely  commanded  the  attendance  of  hia 
page. 

'•'Pardon  me.  Monsieur  de  Blenau,  if  I  observe 
upon  your  arrangements,"  said  Chavigni,  when  be 
heard  this  order.  "  But  let  me  remind  you,  once 
more,  that  you  are  not  going  to  a  prison,  and  that 
it  might  be  better  if  your  general  train  attended 
you,  as  a  gentleman  of  high   etalion  about  to  visit 


RICHELIEU.  121 

the  prime  miniBter  of  his  sovereign.  They  will 
find  plenty  of  accommodation  in  the  Hotel  de  Bou- 
thiliers." 

"  Be  it  so,  then,"  replied  De  Blenau,  scarcely 
able  to  assume  even  the  appearance  of  civility  to- 
wards his  companion.  "  Henry  de  La  Mothe,"  he 
proceeded,  "  order  a  dozen  of  my  best  men  to  at- 
tend me,  bearing  my  full  colours  in  their  sword- 
nots  and  scarfs.  Trick  out  my  horses  gayly,  as  if  I 
were  going  to  a  wedding,  for  Claude  de  Blenau  is 
about  to  visit  the  cardinal,  and  remember,"  he  con- 
tinued, his  anger  at  the  forced  journey  he  was  tak- 
ing overcoming  his  prudence,  "  that  there  be  sad- 
dled for  my  own  use  the  good  black  barb  that  car- 
ried me  so  stoutly  when  I  was  attacked  by  assassins 
in  th«  wood  of  Mantes  j"  and  "as  he  spoke,  his  eye 
glanced  towards  the  statesman,  who  sitting  in  the 
window-seat,  had  taken  up  the  Poems  of  Rotrou, 
and  apparently  inattentive  to  all  that  was  passing, 
read  on  with  as  careless  and  easy  an  air  ns  if  no 
more  important  interest  occupied  his  thoughts,  and 
no  contending  passions  struggled  in  his  breast. 


122  RICHELIEU. 


CHAPTER  X. 


^bows  how  the  Count  He  Blcnau  supped  in  a  place  that  he  lit- 
tle expected. 

Though  the  attendants  of  the  Count  de  Blenau 
did  not  expend  much  time  in  preparing  to  accom- 
pany their  master,  the  evening  was  nevertheless  too 
far  spent,  before  they  could  proceed,  to  permit  the 
hope  of  reaching  Paris  ere  the  night  should  have 
set  in.  It  was  still  quite  light  enough,  however,  to 
show  all  the  preparations  for  the  count's  departure 
to  the  boys  of  St.  Germain's,  who  had  not  beheld 
for  many  a  good  day  such  a  gay  cavalcade  enliven 
the  streets  of  that  almost  deserted  town. 

Chavigni  andDe  Blenau  mounted  theirghorses  to- 
gether 3  and  the  four  or  five  servants  which  the 
statesman  had  brought  with  him  from  Paris,  ming- 
ling with  those  of  De  Blenau,  followed  the  two 
gentlemen  as  they  rode  from  the  gate,  Having  the 
privilege  of  the  park,  Chavigni  took  his  way  imme- 
diately under  the  windows  of  the  palace,  thereby 
avoiding  a  considerable  circuit,  which  would  have 
occupied  more  time  than  they  could  well  spare  at 
that  late  hour  of  the  evening. 

The  moment  Pauline  de  Beaumont  had  seen  her 
lover  depart,  the  tears,  which  she  had  struggled  to 
repress  in  his  presence,  flowed  rapidly  down  her 
cheeks.  The  noble,  candid  manner  of  De  Blenau 
had  nearly  quelled  all  suspicion  in  her  mind.  The 
graces  of  his  person,  the  tone  of  his  voice,  the 
glance  of  his  eye,  had  realized  the  day-dreams 
which  she  had  nourished  from  her  youth. 

Fame  had  long  before  told  her  that  he  was  brave, 
high-spirited,  chivalrous  ;  and  his  picture,  as  well 
aa  memorj;  bad  shown  him  as  strikingly  handsome; 


RtCHELIEe.  lis 

but  still  it  did  not  speak,  it  did  not  move ;  and 
though  Pauline  had  often  sat  with  it  in  her  hand, 
and  imagined  the  expressions  of  his  various  letters 
as  coming  from  the  lips,  or  tried  in  fancy  to  animate 
the  motionless  eyes  of  the  portrait,  still  the  hero 
of  her  romance,  like  the  figure  of  Prometheus  ere 
he  had  robbed  the  sun  of  light  to  kindle  it  into  ac- 
tive being,  wanted  the  energy  of  real  life.  But  at 
length  th«y  had  met,  and  whether  it  was  so  in 
truth,  or  whether  she  imagined  it,  matters  not,  but 
every  bright  dream  of  her  fancy  seemed  fulfilled  in 
De  Blenau ;  and  now  that  she  had  cause  to  fear  for 
his  safety,  she  upbraided  herself  for  having  enter- 
tained a  suspicion. 

She  wept  then — but  her  tears  were  from  a  very 
different  cause  lo  that  which  had  occasioned  them 
to  flow  before.  However,  her  eyes  were  still  full, 
■when  a  servant  entered  to  inform  her  that  the 
queen  desired  her  society  with  the  other  ladies  of 
her  scanty  court.  Pauline  endeavoured  to  efface 
the  marks  which  her  weeping  had  left,  and  slowly 
obeyed  the  summons,  which  being  usual  at  that 
hour,  she  knew  was  on  no  business  of  import  ;  but 
on  entering  the  closet,  she  perceived  that  tears  had 
also  been  in  the  bright  eyes  of  Anne  of  Austria. 

The  circle  which  consisted  of  Madame  de  Beau- 
mont, Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford,  and  another 
lady  of  honour,  had  drawn  round  the  window  at 
which  her  majesty  sat,  and  which,  thrown  fully 
open,  admitted  the  breeze  from  the  park. 

"  Come  hither,  Paulirie,"Baid  the  queen,  as  she 
saw  her  enter,  "  What !  have  you  been  weeping 
too?  Nay,  do  not  blush,  sweet  girl ;  for  surely  a 
subject  need  not  be  ashamed  of  doing  once  what  a 
queen  is  obliged  to  do  every  day.  Why,  it  is  the 
only  resource  that  we  women  have.  But  come 
here  :  there  seems  a  gay  cavalcade  entering  the 
park  gates.  These  are  the  toys  with  which  we  are 
taught  to  amuse  ourselves.  Who  are  they,  I  won- 
der t  Come  near,  Pauline,  and  see  if  your  young 
*yef  can  tell."  /        ^      6 


114  RICHELIEU. 

Pauline  approached  the  window,  and  took  her 
station  by  the  side  of  the  queen,  who,  rising  from 
her  seat,  placed  her  arm  kindly  through  that  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Beaumont,  and  leaning  gently 
upon  her,  prevented  the  possibility  of  her  retiring 
from  the  spot  where  she  stood. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  cavalcade  approached. 
The  gay  trappings  of  the  horses,  and  the  rich  suits 
of  their  riders,  with  their  silk  scarfs  and  sword- 
knots  of  blue  and  gold,  soon  showed  to  the  keen 
eyes  of  th«  queen's  ladies  that  the  young  Count  de 
Blenau  was  one  of  the  party  j  while  every  now  and 
then  a  horseman  in  Isabel  and  silver  appearing 
among  the  rest,  told  them,  to  their  no  small  sur- 
prise, that  he  was  accompanied  by  the  Count  de 
Chavigni,  the  sworn  friend  of  Richelieu,  and  one  of 
the  principal  leaders  of  the  cardinal's  party.  The 
queen,  however,  evinced  no  astonishment,  and  her 
attendants  of  course  did  not  attempt  to  express  the 
wonder  they  felt  at  such  a  companionship. 

The  rapid  pace  at  which  the  two  gentlemen  pro- 
ceeded soon  brought  them  near  the  palace  ;  and 
Chavigni,  from  whose  observant  eye  nothing  passed 
without  notice,  instantly  perceived  the  queen  and 
her  party  at  the  window,  and  marked  his  salutation 
with  a  profound  inclination,  low  almost  to  servility, 
while  De  Blenau  raised  his  high-plumed  hat  and 
bowed,  with  the  dignity  of  one  conscious  ,that  he 
had  deserved  well  of  all  who  saw  him. 

Chavigni  led  the  way  to  Marly,  and  thence  to 
Ruel,  where  night  began  to  come  htavily  upon  the 
twilight ;  and  long  before  they  entered  Paris,  all 
objects  were  lost  in  darkness.  "  You  must  be  pay 
guest  for  to-night.  Monsieur  de  Blenau,  said  Chavig- 
ni, as  they  rode  on  down  the  Rue  St.  Honor6,  "  for  it 
will  be  too  late  to  visit  the  cardinal  this  evening." 
However,  as  they  passed  the  Palais  Royal, 
the  blaze  of  light,  which  proceeded  from  every 
window  of  the  edifice,  told  that  on  tliat  night  the 
superb  minister  entertamed  the  court ; — a  court,  of 
which  he  had  deprived  his  king,  and  which  he  had 


mcHELIKVv  125 

appropriated  to  himself.  De  Blenau  drew  a  deep 
sigh  as  he  gazed  upon  the  magnificent  edifice,  and 
compared  the  pomp  and  luxury  which  every  thing 
appertaining  to  it  displayed,  with  the  silent,  deso- 
late melancholy  which  reigned  in  the  royal  palaces 
of  France. 

Passing  on  do\Vn  the  Rue  St,  Honore,  and  cross- 
ing the  Rue  St.  Martin,  they  soon  reached  the 
Place  Royale,  in  which  Chavigni  had  fixed  his  resi- 
dence. Two  of  De  Blenau's  servants  immediately 
placed  themselves  at  the  head  of  his  horse,  and 
held  the  bridle  short,  while  Henry  de  La  Mothe 
sprang  to  the  stirrup.  But  at  that  moment  a  gen- 
tleman who  seemed  to  have  been  waiting  the  ar- 
rival of  the  travellers,  issued  from  the  Hotel  de 
Bouthiliers,  and  prevented  them  from  dismount- 
ing. 

"Do  not  alight, gentlemen,"  exclaimed  he;  "his 
eminence  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu  has  sent  me 
to  request  that  Messieurs  de  Blenau  and  Cha- 
vigni will  partake  a  small  collation  at  the  Palais 
Cardinal,  without  the  ceremony  of  changing  their 
dress." 

De  Blenau  would  fain  have  excused  himself,  alleg- 
ing that  the  habit  which  he  wore  was  but  suited  to 
the  morning,  and  also  was  soiled  with  the  dust  of 
their  long  ride.  But  the  cardinal's  officer  overbore 
all  opposition,  declaring  that  his  eminence  would 
regard  it  as  a  higher  compliment,  if  the  count  would 
refrain  from  setting  foot  to  the  ground  till  he  enter- 
ed the  gates  of  his  palace. 

"  Then  we  must  go  back,''  said  Chavigni.  "  We 
are  honoured  by  the  cardinal's  invitation.  Monsieur 
de  Blenau,  pardon  me  for  having  brought  you  so 
far  wrong.  Go  in,  Chatenay,"  he  added,  turning  to 
one  of  his  own  domestics,  "and  order  flam- 
beaux." 

In  a  few  moments  all  was  ready  ;  and  preceded  by 
half  a  dozen-torcli-bearers  on  foot,  they  once  more 
turned  towards  the  dwelling  of  the  minister.  As 
they  did  so,  De  Blenau's  fselings  were  not  of  the 


12«  RICHELIEU. 

most  agreeable  nature,  but  he  acquiesced  ia  silence, 
for  to  have  refused  his  presence  would  have  baen 
worse  than  useless. 

The  Palais  Royal,  which,  as  we  have  said,  was 
then  called  the  Palais  Cardinal,  was  a  very  diflFerent 
building  when  occupied  by  the  haughty  minister  of 
Louis  the  Thirteenth,  from  that  which  we  have 
Been  it  in  our  days.  The  unbounded  resources 
within  his  power  gave  to  Richelieu  the  means  of 
lavishing  on  the  mansion  which  he  erected  for  him- 
self, all  that  art  could  produce  of  elegant,  and  all 
that  wealth  could  supply  of  magnificence.  For 
seven  years  the  famous  Le  Mercier  laboured  to  per- 
fect it  as  a  building;  and  during  bis  long  adminis- 
tration, the  cardinal  himself  never  ceased  to  deco- 
rate it  with  every  thing  rare  or  luxurious.  The 
large  space  which  it  occupied  was  divided  into  an 
outer  and  an  inner  court,  round  which,  on  every 
side, the  superb  range  ofbuildingSjforming  the  palace, 
was  placed  in  exact  and  beautiful  proportion,  pre- 
senting every  way  an  external  and  internal  front, 
decorated  with  all  the  splendour  of  architectural  or- 
nament. 

The  principal  fa9ade  lay  tewards  the  Rue  St. 
Honore,  and  another  of  simpler,  but  perhaps  more 
correct  design,  towards  the  gardens,  which  last 
were  themselves  one  of  the  wonders  of  Paris  at  the 
time.  Extending  over  the  space  now  occupied  by 
the  Rue  de  Richelieu,  the  Rue  de  Valois,  and 
several  other  streets,  they  contained,  within  them- 
selves, many  acres  of  ground,  and  were  filled  with 
every  plant  and  flower  that  Europe  *hen  possessed, 
scattered  about  among  the  trees,  which,  being  plan- 
ted long  before  the  formality  of  the  Dutch  taste  was 
introduced  in  France,  had  in  general  been  allowed 
to  fall  into  natural  groups,  unperverted  into  the  long 
avenues  and  straight  alleys  which  disfigure  so 
many  of  the  royal  parks  and  gardens  on  the  Conti- 
nent. 

The  right-wing  of  the  first  court  was  principally 
occupied  by  that  beautiful  theatre,,  so  strongly  con- 


RICHELIKU.  127 

nee  ted  with  every  classic  remembrance  of  the 
French  stage,  in  which  the  first  tragedies  of  Rotrou 
and  Corneille  were  produced, — in  which  many  of 
the  inimitable  comedies  of  Moliere  were  first  given 
to  the  world,  and  in  which  he  himself  acted  till  his 
death. 

In  the  wing  immediately  opposite  was  the  chapel, 
built  in  the  Ionic  order,  and  ornamented  in  that  pure 
and  simple  manner  which  none  knew  better  how  to 
value  than  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu. 

The  two  courts  were  divided  from  each  other  by 
a  massive  pile  of  building,  containing  the  grand 
saloon,  the  audience-chamber,  and  the  cabinet  of 
the  high  council.  On  the  ground  floor  was  the 
banqueting-room  and  its  ante-chamber  3  and  a  great 
part  of  the  building  fronting  the  gardens  was  occu- 
pied by  the  famous  gallery  of  portraits,  which  Rich- 
elieu had  taken  care  should  comprise  the  best  pic- 
tures that  could  be  procured  of  all  the  greatest 
characters  in  French  history. 

The  rest  of  the  palace  was  filled  with  various 
suites  of  apartments,  generally  decorated  and  fur- 
nished in  the  most  sumptuous  manner.  Great  part 
of  these  the  cardinal  reserved  either  for  public  en- 
tertainments, or  for  his  own  private  use;  but  what  re- 
mained was  nevertheless  fully  large  enough  to  con- 
tain that  host  of  ofiicers  and  attendants  by  which 
he  was  usually  surrounded. 

On  the  evening  in  question  almost  every  part  of 
that  immense  building  was  thrown  open  to  receive 
the  multitude  that  interest  and  fear  gathered  round 
the  powerful  and  vindictive  minister.  Almost  all 
that  was  gay,  almost  all  that  was  beautiful,  had  been 
assembled  there.  All  to  whom  wealth  gave  some- 
thing to  secure — all  to  whom  rank  gave  something 
to  maintain — all  whom  wit  rendered  anxious  for  dis- 
liction  —  ail  whom  talent  prompted  to  ambition. 
Equally  those  that  Richelieu  feared  or  loved,  hated 
or  admired,  were  brought  there  by  some  means,  and 
for  some  reason. 

The  scene  which  met  the  eye  of  De  Blenau  and 


Chavigni,  as  they  ascended  the  grand  staiacase  and 
entered  the  saloon,  can  only  be  qualified  by  the 
word  princely.  The  blaze  of  jewels,  the  glare  of 
innumerable  lights,  the  splendid  dresses  of  the 
guests,  and  the  magnificent  decorations  of  the  apart- 
ments themselves,  all  harmonized  together,  and 
formed  a  coup-d/oeil  of  surpassing  brilliancy. 

The  rooms  were  full,  but  not  crowded  ;  for  there 
were  attendants  stationed  in  various  parts  for  the 
purpose  of  requesting  the  visiters  to  proceed,  when- 
ever they  observed  too  many  collected  in  one  spot. 
Yet  care  was  taken  that  those  who  were  thus  treat- 
ed with  scant  ceremony  should  be  of  the  inferior 
class  admitted  to  the  cardinal's  fete.  Each  officer 
of  the  minister's  household  was  well  instructed  to 
know  the  just  value  of  every  guest,  and  how  far  he 
was  to  be  courted,  either  for  his  mind  or  influence. 

To  render  to  all  the  highest  respect,  was  the  gen- 
eral order,  but  some  were  to  be  distinguished.  Care 
was  also  taken  that  none  should  be  neglected,  and 
an  infinite  number  of  servants  were  seen  gliding 
through  the  apartments,  offering  the  most  costly 
and  delicate  refreshments  to  every  individual  of  the 
mixed  assembly. 

De  Blenau  followed  Chavigni  through  the  grand 
saloon,  where  many  an  eye  was  turned  upon  the 
elegant  and  manly  figure  of  him.  who  on  that  night 
of  splendour  and  finery,  presumed  to  show  himself 
in  a  suit,  rich  indeed  and  well-fashioned,  but  evi- 
dently intended  more  for  the  sports  of  the  morning 
than  for  the  gay  evening  circle  in  which  he  then 
stood.  Yet  it  was  remarked,  that  none  of  the  ladies 
drew  back  as  the  cavalier  passed  them,  notwith- 
standing his  riding-dress  and  his  dusty  boots ;  and 
one  fair  demoiselle,  whose  rank  would  have  sanc- 
tioned it,  had  it  been  done  on  purpose,  was  unfor- 
tunate enough  to  entangle  her  train  on  his  spurs. 
The  Count  de  Coligni  stepped  forward  to  disengage 
it,  but  De  Blenau  himself  had  already  bent  one  knee 
to  the  ground,  and  easily  freeing  the  spur  from  the 
robe  of  Mademoiselle  de  Bourbon,  he  remained  for 


RroHELIEU.  i^ 

a  moment  in  the  same  attitude.  "  It  is  but  just," 
said  he,  "  that  I  should  kneel,  at  once  to  repair  my 
awkwardness,  and  sue  for  pardon." 

"It  was  my  sister's  own  fault,  De  Blenau,"  said 
the  Duke  d'Enghien,  approaching  them,  and  em- 
bracing the  young  count.  "  We  have  not  met,  dear 
friend,  since  the  rendering  of  Perpignan.  But  what 
makes  you  here  ?  Does  your  proud  spirit  bend  at 
last  to  ask  a  grace  of  My  Lord  Uncle  Cardinal  V 

"  No,  your  highness,"  replied  De  Blenau  ;  "  no 
farther  grace  have  I  to  ask,  than  leave  to  return  to 
St.  Germain's  as  soon  as  I  may." 

"  What !"  said  the  duke,  in  the  abrupt  heedless 
manner  in  which  he  always  spoke,  ''does  he  threaten 
you  too  with  that  cursed  bugbear  of  a  Bastille  ?  a 
bugbear,  that  makes  one  man  fly  his  country,  and 
another  betray  it ;  that  makes  one  man  run  his 
sword  into  his  heart,  and  another  marry  j" — allud- 
ing without  ceremony  to  his  own  compelled  es- 
pousal of  the  cardinal's  niece.  "  But  there  stands 
Chavigni,"  he  continued,  "  waiting  lor  you,  I  sup- 
pose. Go  on,  go  on ;  there  is  no  stopping  when 
once  you  have  got  within  the  cardinal's  magic  cir- 
cle— Go  on,  and  God  speed  your  suit ;  for  the  soon- 
er you  are  out  of  that  same  circle  the  better." 

Quitting  the  young  hero,  who  had  already,  on 
more  than  one  occasion,  displayed  that  valor  and 
conduct  which  in  after-years  procured  for  him  the 
immortal  name  of  the  Great  Cond^,  the  Count  do 
Blenau  passed  another  group,  consisting  of  the  beau- 
tiful Madame  de  Montbazon  and  her  avowed  lover, 
the  Duke  of  Longueville,  who  soon  after,  notwith- 
standing his  unconcealed  passion  for  another,  be- 
came the  husband  of  Mademoiselle  de  Bourbon. 
For  be  it  remarked,  in  those  days  a  bitter  quarrel 
existed  between  Love  and  Marriage,  and  they  were 
seldom  seen  together  in  the  same  society.  It  is 
said  indeed,  that  in  France,  a  coolness  remains  be- 
tween them  to  this  day.  Here  also  was  the  Duke 
of  Guise,  who  afterward  played  so  conspicuous  a 
vot.  I.  U 


ISO  RICHELIEU, 

part  in  the  revolution  of  jS^aples,  and  by  his  singular 
adventures,  his  gallantry  and  chivalrous  courage  ac- 
quired the  name  of  I'Hero  de  laFuhle.  as  Conde  had 
been  called  V Hero  de  la  Histoire.  Still  passing  on, 
De  Blenau  rejoined  Chavigni,  who  waited  for  him 
at  the  entrance  of  the  next  chamber. 

It  was  the  great  hall  of  audience,  and  at  the  far- 
ther extrf  mity  stood  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu  him- 
self, leaning  for  support  against  a  gilt  railing,  which 
defended  from  any  injurious  touch  the  beautiful  pic- 
ture of  Raphael,  so  well  known  by  the  title  of  '•  La 
Belle  Jardiniere.'"  He  was  dressed  in  the  longpur- 
ple  robes  of  his  order,  and  v.'ore  the  peculiar  hat  of 
a  cardinal  ;  the  bright  color  of  which  made  the 
deadlv  hue  of  his  complexion  look  still  more  ghast- 
ly. But  the  paleness  of  his  countenance,  and  a  cer- 
tain attenuation  of  feature,  was  all  that  could  be 
discerned  of  the  illness  from  which  he  suffered.  The 
powerl'ul  mind  within  seemed  to  conquer  the  feeble- 
ness of  the  body.  His  form  was  erect  and  dignified, 
his  eye  beaming  with  that  piercing  sagacity  and 
haughty  confidence  in  his  own  powers,  which  so 
distinguished  his  policy  5  and  his  voice  clear,  deep, 
and  firm,  but  of  that  peculiar  quality  of  sound,  that 
it  seemed  to  spread  all  round,  and  to  come  no  one 
knew  from  whence,  like  the  wind  echoing  through 
an  empty  cavern. 

It  was  long  since  De  Blenau  had  seen  the  cardi- 
nal ;  and  on  entering  the  audience-chamber,  the 
sound  of  that  voice  made  him  start.  Its  clear  hollow 
tone  seemed  close  to  him,  though  Richelieu  was 
conversing  with  some  of  his  immediate  friends  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  room. 

As  the  two  cavaliers  advanced.  De  Blenau  had  an 
opportunity  of  observing  the  manner  in  which  the 
minister  treated  those  around  him  :  but  far  from 
tellin':'  aught  of  dungeons  and  of  death,  his  conver- 
sation seemed  cheerful,  and  his  demeanor  mild 
and  placid.  '•  And  can  this  be  the  man,'*  thought 
the  count,  "'  tlie  fabric  of  whose  power  is  cemented 
by  blood  and  torture  V 


RiOHELIECr.  131 

They  had  now  approached  within  a  few  paces  of 
the  spot  where  the  cardinal  stood ;  and  the  figure 
of  Chavigni  catching  his  eye,  he  advanced  a  step, 
and  received  him  with  unaffected  kindness.  To- 
wards De  Blenau,  his  manner  was  full  of  elegant 
Soliteness.  He  did  not  embrace  him  as  he  had 
one  Chavigni ;  but  he  held  him  by  the  hand  for  a 
moment,  gazing  on  him  with  a  dignified  approving 
smile.  Those  who  did  not  well  know  the  heart  of 
the  subtle  minister,  would  have  called  that  smile 
benevolent,  especially  when  it  was  accompanied  by 
many  kind  inquiries  respecting  tlie  young  noble- 
man's views  and  pursuits.  De  Blenau  had  been 
taught  to  judge  by  actions,  not  professions  ;  and  the 
cardinal  had  taken  care  to  imprint  his  deeds  too 
deeply  in  the  minds  of  men  to  be  wiped  out  with 
soft  words.  To  dissemble  was  not  De  Blenau's 
forte  5  and  yet  he  knew,  that  to  show  a  deceiver  he 
cannot  deceive,  is  to  make  him  an  open  enemy  for 
ever.  He  replied,  therefore,  caifniy  and  politely  j 
neither  repulsed  the  cardinal's  advances,  nor  court- 
ed his  regard ;  and  after  a  few  more  moments  of 
desultory  conversation,  prepared  to  pursue  his  way 
through  the  various  apartments. 

*'  There  are  some  men,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said 
the  cardinal,  seeing  him  about  to  pass  on,  "  whom  I 
might  have  scrupled  to  invite  to  such  a  scene  as  this, 
is  their  riding-dress.  But  the  Count  de  Blenau  is  not 
to  be  mistaken." 

"  I  felt  no  scruple."  answered  De  Blenau, "in pre- 
senting myself  thus,  when  yorur  eminence  desired  it  5 
for  the  dress  in  which  the  Cardinal  de  p.ichelieu 
thought  fit  to  receive  me,  could  not  be  objected 
to  by  any  of  his  circle.*' 

The  cardinal  bowed  ;  and  De  Blenau  adding,  that 
he  would  not  intrude  farther  at  that  moment,  took 
his  way  through  the  suite  of  apartments  to  Rich- 
elieu's left  hand.  Chavigni  was  about  to  follow, 
but  a  sign  from  the  cardinal  stopped  him,  and  the 
young  count  passed  on  alone. 

Each  of  the  varioas  rooms  he  entered  was  throng- 


132  R:CHE|.«fJ. 

ed  with  it  own  peculiar  groups.  In  one,  was  an  as- 
sembly of  famous  artists  and  sculptors ;  in  another, 
a  close  convocation  of  philosophers,  discussing  3 
thousand  absurd  theories  of  the  day  ;  and  in  the  last 
he  caine  to,  was  a  buzzing  hire  of  poets  and  beaux 
esprit s ;  each  trying  to  distinguish  himself,  each 
jealous  of  the  other,  and  all  equally  vain  and  fuU  of 
themselves. 

In  one  corner  was  Scuderi,  haranguing  upon  the 
nature  of  tragedy,  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  la 
another  place,  Voiture,  throwing  off  little  empty 
coup-lets  and  bon-mots,  like  a  child  blowing  bubbles 
from  a  tobacco-pipe ;  and  farther  on  was  Rotroa, 
surrounded  by  a  select  party  more  s;lent  than  the 
rest,  to  whom  he  recited  some  of  his  unpublished 
poems,  marking  strongly  the  verse,  and  laying  great 
emphasis  upon  the  rhyme.  De  Blenau  stopped  for 
a  moment  to  listen  while  the  poet  proceeded  : — 

'^L'aube  desia  se  leve,  ct  le  mignard  Zepliire, 
Parfuioaiil  I'hori&on  du  dous  air  quMI  aespire, 
Va  u'lWi  soa  agreille  esveiller  les  oUeaux 
Pour  saluer  le  joui  qui  parpist  siir  les  eaux." 

But  though  the  verses  he  recited  were  highly  poetic, 
the  extravagant  affectation  of  his  manner  soon  neu- 
tralized their  effect  upon  De  Blenau ;  and  passing 
on  down  a  broad  flight  of  steps,  De  Blenau  found 
himself  in  the  gardens  of  the  palace.  These,  as  well 
as  the  whdle  front  of  the  building,  were  illuminated 
in  every  direction.  Bands  of  musicians  were  dis- 
persed "in  the  different  walks,  and  a  multitude  of  ser- 
vants were  busily  engaged  in  laying  out  tables  for 
supper  with  all  the  choicest  viands  of  the  season. 
and  in  trimming  the  various  lamps  and  tapers  which 
hung  from  the  branches  of  the  trees,  or  were  dis- 
played on  fanciful  frames  of  wood,  so  placed  as  to 
give  the  fullest  light  to  the  banquests  which  were 
situated  near  them. 

Scattered  about  in  various  parts  of  the  garden,  but 
more    especially    near  the  palace,  were   different 


RICHELIEU.  133 

groups  of  gentlemen,  all  speaking  of  plays,  assem- 
blies, or  fetes,  and  all  taking  care  to  make  their 
conversation  perfectly  audible,  lest  the  jealous  sus- 
picion ever  attendant  on  usurped  power,  should  at- 
tribute to  them  schemes  which,  it  is  probable,  fear 
alone  prevented  them  from  attempting. 

JNevertheless,  the  gardens,  as  we  have  said,  con- 
taining several  acres  of  ground,  there  were  many 
parts  comparatively  deserted.  It  was  towards  these 
more  eccluded  spots  that  De  Blenau  directed  his 
steps,  wishing  himself  many  a  league  away  from  the 
Palais  Cardinal  and  all  its  splendor.  Just  as  he 
had  reached  a  part  where  few  persons  were  to  be 
*een,  some  one  struck  him  slightly  on  the  arm,  and 
turning  round,  he  perceived  a  man  who  concealed 
the  lower  part  of  his  face  with  his  cloak,  and  tender- 
ed him  what  seemed  to  be  a  billet. 

At  the  first  glance  De  Blenau  thought  he  recognis- 
ed the  Count  de  Coligni,  a  reputed  lover  of  Made- 
moiselle De  Bourbon,  and  imagined  that  the  little 
piece  ©f  gallantry  he  had  shown  that  lady  on  his 
first  entrance,  might  have  called  upon  him  the  wrath 
of  the  jealous  Coligni.  But  no  sooner  had  he  taken 
the  piece  of  paper,  than  the  other  darted  away 
among  the  trees,  giving  him  no  time  to  observe  more, 
either  of  bis  person  or  his  dress. 

Approaching  a  spot  where  the  number  of  lamps 
gave  him  sufficient  light  to  read,  De  Blenau  opened 
th«  note,  which  contained  merely  these  words : 
"  Beware  of  Chavigni ; — they  will  seek  to  draw 
something  from  you  which  may  criminate  you  here- 
after." 

As  he  read,  De  Blenau  heard  a  light  step  advanc- 
ing, and  hastily  concealing  the  note,  turned  to  see 
who  approached.  The  only  person  near  was  a  lady, 
who  had  thrown  a  thick  veil  over  her  head,  which 
not  only  covered  her  face,  but  the  upper  part  of  her 
figure.  She  passed  close  by  him,  but  without  turn- 
ing her  head,  or  by  any  other  motion  seeming  to  no- 
tice him ;  but  as  she  did  so,  De  Blenau  heard  a  low 
roice  from  under  the  v«il,  desiring  him  to  follow. 


134  RICHELIEU. 

Gliding  on,  without  pausing  for  a  moment,  the  lady 
led  the  way  to  the  very  extreme  of  the  garden.  De 
Blenau  followed  quick  upon  her  steps,  and  as  he  did 
so,  endeavored  to  call  to  mind  where  lie  had  seen 
that  graceful  and  dignified  figure  before.  At  length 
the  lady  stopped,  looked  round  for  a  moment,  and 
raising  her  veil,  discovered  the  lovely  countenance 
of  Mademoiselle  de  Bourbon. 

"Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  said  the  princess,  "i 
have  but  one  moment  to  tell  you,  that  the  cardinal 
and  Chavigni  are  plotting  the  ruin  of  the  queen  j 
and  they  vvi«h  to  force  or  persuade  you  to  betray 
her.  After  you  had  left  the  cardinal,  by  chance  1 
heard  it  proposed  to  arrest  you  even  to-night  3  but 
Chavigni  said,  that  he  had  given  his  word  that  you 
should  return  to  St.  Germain's  to-morrow.  Take 
cars,  therefore,  of  your  conduct  while  here,  and  if 
you  have  any  cause  to  fear,  escape  the  moment  you 
are  at  liberty.  Fly  to  Flanders,  and  place  yourself 
under  the  protection  otDon  Francisco  de  Mello." 

"  1  have  to  return  your  highness  a  thousand 
thanks,"'  replied  De  Blenau;  "but  as  far  as  inno- 
cence can  give  security,!  have  no  reason  to  fear." 

"  Innocence  is  nothing  here,"  rejoined  the  lady. 
"  But  you  are  the  best  judge.  Monsieur  de  Blenau. 
1  sent  Coligni  to  warn  you,  and  taking  an  opportuni- 
ty of  escaping  from  the  supper-table,  came  to  re- 
quest that  you  will  otter  my  humble  duty  to  the 
queen,  and  assure  her  that  Marie  de  Bourbon  is  ever 
hers.  But  here  is  some  one  coming — Good  God,  it 
is  Chavigni  I" 

As  she  spoke,  Chavigni  came  rapidly  upon  them. 
Mademoiselle  de  Bourbon  drew  down  her  veil,  and 
De  Blenau  placed  himself  between  her  and  the 
statesman,  who,  aftecting  an  excess  of  gayety,  total- 
ly foreign  to  his  natural  character,  beg^n  to  rally  the 
count  upoa  what  he  termed  his  gallantry.  '•  So, 
Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  cried  he,  "  already  paying 
your  devoirs  to  our  Parisian  dames.  iS'ay,  1  must 
offer  ray  compliments  to  your  fair  lady  on  her  con- 


RlCHELIEty.  135 

quest  j"  and  he  endeavored  to  pass  the  count  to- 
wards Mademoiselle  de  Bourbon. 

De  Blenau  drew  his  sword.  "  Stand  off",  sir,"  ex- 
claimed he,  "  or  by  Heaven  you  are  a  dead  man  \" 
And  the  point  came  fiashing  so  near  Chavigni's 
breast,  that  he  was  fain  to  start  back  a  step  or  two. 
The  lady  seized  the  opportunity  to  pass  him,  for  the 
palisade  of  the  garden  had  prevented  her  escaping 
the  other  way.  Chavigni  attempted  to  follow,  but 
De  Blenau  caught  his  arm,  and  held  him  with  a 
grasp  of  iron. 

"JVotone  step,  sir!"  cried  he.  "Monsieur  de 
Chavigni,  you  have  strangely  forgot  yourself.  How 
is  it  you  presume,  sir,  to  interrupt  my  convensation 
with  any  one  ?  And  let  me  ask,  what  affair  is  it  of 
yours,  if  a  lady  chose  to  give  me  five  minutes  of  her 
company  even  here  !  You  have  slackened  your  gal- 
lantry not  a  little." 

"  But  was  the  cardinal's  garden  a  place  fitted  for 
8uch  love  stories?"  demanded  Chavigni,  feelmg  at 
the  same  time  very  sure  that  the  conversation  he 
had  interrupted  had  not  been  of  love  ;  for  in  those 
days  politics  and  faction  divided  the  heart  of  a 
Frenchwoman  with  gallantry,  and,  instead  of  quar- 
relling for  the  empire  of  her  breast,  these  apparent- 
ly opposite  passions  went  hand  in  hand  together; 
and  exempt  from  the  more  serious  dangers  incur- 
red by  the  other  sex  in  similar  enterprises,  wo- 
men were  often  the  most  active  agents  and  zealous 
partisans  in  the  factions  and  conspiracies  of  the 
times. 

it  had  been  Chavigni's  determination,  on  accom- 
panying De  Blenau  to  the  Palais  Cardinal,  not  to  lose 
sight  of  his  companion  for  a  moment,  in  order  that 
no  communication  might  take  place  between  him 
and  any  of  the  queen's^  party  till  such  time  as  the 
cardinal  had  personally  interrogated  him  concerning 
the  corrpspondence  which  they  supposed  th;U  Anne 
of  Austria  carried  on  with  her  bother,  Philip  of 
Spain.  Chavigni,  however,  had  been  stopped,  as 
we  have  seen,  by  the  cardinal  himself;  and  detained 


196  RIOUELH.U. 

for  some  time  in  conversation,  the  principal  object 
of  which  was,  the  Count  de  Blenau  himselT,  and  the 
means  of  either  persuading  him  by  favor,  or  of 
driving  him  by  fear,  not  only  to  abandon,  but  to  be- 
tray the  party  he  had  espoused.  The  cardinal 
thought  ambition  would  do  all ;  Chavigni  said  that 
it  would  not  move  De  Blenau  :  and  thus  the  discus- 
sion was  considerably  prolonged. 

As  soon  as  Chavigni  could  liberate  himself,  he 
had  hastened  after  the  count,  and  found  him  as  we 
have  described.  To  have  ascertained  who  was  his 
companion,  Chavigni  would  have  risked  his  life  j 
but  now  that  shs  had  escaped  him,  the  matter  was 
past  recall ;  and  willing  again  to  throw  De  Blenau 
off  his  guard,  he  made  some  excuses  for  his  intru- 
sion, saying  he  had  thought  that  the  lady  was  not 
unknown  to  him. 

"  Well,  well,  let  it  drop,*'  replied  De  Blenau  ful- 
ly more  desirous  of  aroiding  farther  inquiries  than 
Chavigni  was  of  relinquishing  them.  "  But  the  next 
time  you  come  across  me  on  such  an  occasion,  be- 
ware of  your  heart's  blood,  Monsieur  de  Chavigni." 
And  thus  saying,  he  thrust  back  his  sword  into  the 
scabbard. 

Chavigni,  however,  was  resolved  not  to  lose  sight 
of  him  again,  and  passing  his  arm  through  that  of 
the  count,  "  You  are  still  too  hot,  Monsieur  de 
Blenau,"  said  he  j  "  but  nevertheless  let  us  be  friends 
again." 

"  As  far  as  we  ever  were  friends,  sir,"  replied  De 
Blenau.  "  The  open  difference  of  our  principles  in 
every  respect,  must  always  prevent  our  greatly  as- 
similating." 

Chavigni,  however,  kept  to  his  purpose,  and  did 
not  withdraw  his  arm  from  that  of  De  Blenau,  nor 
quit  him  again  during  the  whole  evening. 

Whether  the  statesman  suspected  Mademoiselle 
de  Bourbon  or  not,  matters  little  j  but  on  entering 
the  banquet-room,  where  the  principal  guests  were 
preparing  to  take  their  seats,  they  passed  that  lady 
with  her  brother  and  the  Count  de  Coligni,  and  the 


RICHKLIEU.  137 

eye  of  Chavigni  glanced  from  the  countenance  of 
De  Blenau  to  hers.  But  they  were  both  upon  their 
guard,  and  not  a  look  betrayed  that  they  had  met 
since  De  Blenau's  spur  had  been  entangled  in  her 
train. 

At  that  moment  the  master  of  the  ceremonies 
exclaimed  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Place  au  Comte  de 
Blenau,"  and  was  conducting  him  to  a  seat  higher 
than  his  rank  entitled  him  to  take,  when  his  eye 
Jell -upon  the  old  Marquis  de  Brion ;  and  with  the 
deference  due  not  only  to  his  station,  but  to  his 
high  military  renown,  De  Blenau  drew  back  to  give 
him  precedence. 

"  Go  on,  go  on,  mon  cher  de  Blenau,"  said  the  old 
soldier;  and  lowering  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  he 
added,  "  honest  men  like  you  and  f  are  all  out  of 
place  here ;  so  go  on,  and  never  mind.  If  it  were 
in  the  field,  we  would  strive  which  should  be  first ; 
but  here  there  is  no  knowing  which  end  of  the  table 
is  most  honorable." 

'•  Wherever  it  were,  I  should  always  be  happy  to 
follow  Monsieur  de  Brion,"  replied  De  Blenau ; 
"  but  as  you  will  have  it,  so  let  it  be."  And  follow- 
ing the  master  of  the  ceremonies,  he  was  soon 
placed  among  the  most  distinguished  guests,  and 
within  four  or  five  seats  of  the  cardinal.  Like  the 
spot  before  a  heathen  altar,  it  was  always  the  place 
cither  of  honor  or  sacrifice ;  and  De  Blenau  scarce- 
ly knew  which  was  to  be  his  fate.  At  all  events, 
the  distinction  which  he  met  with  was  by  no  means 
pleasing  to  him,  and  he  remained  in  silence  during 
greater  part  of  the  banquet. 

Every  thing  in  the  vast  hall  where  they  sat  was 
magnificent  beyond  description.  It  was  like  one  of 
thovse  scenes  in  fairy  romance,  where  supernatural 
powers  lend  their  aid  to  dignify  some  human  festi- 
val. All  the  apartment  was  as  fully  illuminated  as 
if  the  broad  sun  had  shone  into  it  in  his  fullest 
splendor ;  yet  not  a  single  light  was  to  be  seen. 
Soft  sounds    of  music    also    occasionally  floated 


138  RICHELIEU. 

through  the  air,  but  never  so  loud  as  to  interrupt 
the  conversation. 

At  the  table  all  was  glitter,  and  splendor,  and 
luxury;  and  from  the  higher  end  at  which  De 
Blenau  sat,  the  long  perspective  of  the  hall,  decked 
out  witli  all  a  mighty  kingdom's  wealth,  and  crowd- 
ed with  the  gay,  the  bright,  and  the  fair,  offered  an 
interminable  \iew  of  beauty  and  magnihcence. 

I  might  describe  the  passing  of  the  banquet,  and 
the  bright  smiles  that  were  given,  and  the  bright 
things  that  were  said.  1  might  enlarge  upon  llie 
crowd  of  domestics,  the  activity  of  the  seneschals 
and  officers,  and  tell  of  ihe  splendor  of  the  decora- 
tions. I  might  even  introduce  the  famous  court 
fool,  L'Angeli,  who  stood  behind  the  chair  of  his 
young  lord  the  Duke  d'Enghien,  But  no — a  master's 
hand  has  given  to  the  world  so  many  splendid  pic- 
tures of  such  scenes,  that  mine  would  seem  but  a 
feeble  imitation.  Let  such  things  rest  with  Scott, 
whose  magic  wand  has  had  power  to  call  up  the 
spirit  of  the  past  with  as  much  truth  as  if  it  were 
again  substantially  in  being. 

To  pursue  our  theme,  however.  The  Cardinal 
de  Richelieu,  who  held  in  his  hand  the  fate  of  all 
who  sat  around  him,  yielding  to  his  guests  the  most 
marked  attention,  treating  them  with  the  profound 
humility  of  great  pride ;  trying  to  quell  the  fire  of 
his  eye' till  it  should  become  nothing  but  affability; 
and  to  soften  the  deep  tones  of  his  voice,  from  the 
accent  of  command  to  an  expression  of  gentle  cour- 
tesy ;  but  notwithstanding  all  his  efforts,  a  degree  of 
that  haughtiness  with  which  the  long  habit  of  des- 
potic rule  had  tinged  his  manners,  would  occasion- 
ally appear,  and  still  show  that  it  was  the  lord  en- 
tertaining his  vassals.  His  demeanor  towards  De 
Blenau,  however,  was  all  suavity  and  kindness.  He 
addressed  him  several  times  in  the  most  marked 
manner  during  the  course  of  the  banquet,  and  listen- 
ed to  his  reply  with  one  of  those  approving  smUes, 
so  sweet  upon  the  lips  of  power. 

De  Blenau  was  not  to  be  deceived,  it  is  true.  Yet 


RICUfclLHiU-  139 

though  he  knew  that  kindness  to  be  assumed  on  pur- 
pose to  betray,  and  the  smile  to  be  as  false  as  hell, 
there  was  a  fascination  in  the  distinction  shown  him, 
against  which  he  could  not  wholly  guard  his  heart. 
His  brow  unbent  of  its  frown,  and  he  entered  into 
the  gay  conversation  which  was  going  on  around} 
but  at  that  moment  he  observed  the  cardinal 
glance  his  eye  towards  Chavigni  with  a  meaning 
smile. 

De  Blenau  marked  it.  "  So,'"  thought  he,  '•  my 
Lord  Cardinal,  you  deem  me  your  own.''  And  as 
the  guesta  rose,  De  Blenau  took  his  leave,  and  re- 
turned with  Chavigni  to  the  Place  Royale. 


CHAPTER  XL 


Containing  a  Conference,  vrliich  ends  much  ai  it  began. 

The  music  of  the  cardinal's  fete  rang  in  De 
Blenau's  ears  all  night,  and  the  lights  danced  in  his. 
eyes,  and  the  various  guests  flitted  before  his  imagi- 
nation, like  the  figures  in  some  great  phantasma- 
goria. One  time  he  seemed  wandering  in  the  gar- 
dens with  Pauline  de  Beaumont,  and  offering  up  all 
the  dearest  treasures  of  his  heart,  when  suddenly 
the  lady  raised  her  veil,  and  it  was  Mademoiselle 
de  Bourbon.  Then  again  he  was  seated  on  the  car- 
dinal's right  hand,  who  poured  out  for  him  a  cup  of 
wine :  he  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  was  about  to 
drink,  when  some  one  dashed  it  from  his  hand,  ex- 
claiming, "  It  is  poison  !'  then,  turning  round  to  see 
who  had  thus  interposed,  he  beheld  a  figure  with- 
out V.  head,  and  the  overthrown  cup  poured  forth  a 
stream  of  blood.  The  next  moment  it  was  all  the 
cardinal's  funeral,  and  the  fool  L'Angeli  appeared 
as  chief  mourner.     At  length,  however,  towards 


140  RIOHKLIEU. 

the  approach  of  morning,  the  uneasy  visions  died 
away,  and  left  him  in  deep  sleep,  from  which  he 
rose  refreshed,  and  prepared  to  encounter  the  events 
of  a  new  day. 

Alas  !  that  man  should  still  rise  to  sorrow  and  to 
danger,  and  that  the  kindest  gift  of  Heaven  should 
be  the  temporary  forgeifulness  of  existence.  Sor- 
row !  how  is  it  that  thy  coarse  thread  is  so  intimate- 
ly mingled  with  the  web  of  life,  that  he  who  would 
tear  thee  out  must  rend  the  whole  fabric  ?  Oh  life, 
thou  long  sad  dream  I  when  shall  we  rise  from  all 
thy  phantom  agenies  to  that  bright  waking  which  we 
fondly  hope  ? 

De  Blenau  prepared  his  mind,  as  a  man  arming 
for  a  battle ;  and  sent  to  notify  to  Chavigni,  that  he 
was  about  lo  visit  the  cardinal.  In  a  few  minutes 
after,  the  statesman  himself  appeared,  and  courte- 
ously conducted  the  young  count  to  his  horse,  but 
did  not  offer  to  accompany  him  to  the  minister. 
"  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  said  he,  ''it  is  better  you 
should  go  alone.  After  your  audience,  you  will 
doubtless  be  in  haste  to  return  to  St.  Germain's  ; 
but  if  you  will  remain  to  take  your  noon  meal  at  my 
poor  table,  I  shall  esteem  myself  honored." 

De  Blenau  thanked  him  for  his  courtesy,  but  de- 
clined, stating  that  he  was  anxious  to  return  home 
before  night,  if  he  were  permitted  to  do  so  at  all. 
"  My  word  is  passed  for  your  safety,"  replied  Cha- 
vigni ;  "so  have  no  doubt  on  that  head.  But  take 
my  counsel,  Monsieur  le  Comte:  moderate  your 
proud   bearing  towards  the  cardinal.      Those  who 

Elay  with  a  lion,  must  take  good  care  not. to  irritate 
im." 

On  arriving  at  the  Palais  Cardinal,  De  Blenau  left, 
his  attendants  in  the  outer  court,  and  following  an 
officer  of  the  household,  proceeded  through  a  long 
suite  of  apartments  to  a  large  saloon,  where  he  found 
several  others  waiting  the  leisure  of  the  minister, 
who  was  at  that  moment  engaged  in  conference 
with  the  ambassador  from  Sweden. 
De  Blenau's  own  feelings  were  not  :S  the  most 


RlCriKLlEU.  141 

comfortable  nature  5  but  on  looking  round  the  room, 
he  guessed,  from  the  faces  of  all  those  with  whom 
it  was  tenanted,  that  suc!i  sensations  were  but  too 
common  there.  One  had  placed  himself  at  a  win- 
dow, and  gazed  upon  the  stones  of  the  court-yard 
with  as  much  earnestness  as  if  they  had  inspired 
him  with  the  deepest  interest.  Another  walked  up 
and  down  his  own  corner  with  irregular  steps  and 
downcast  looks.  Another  leaned  back  in  his  seat, 
'with  his  chin  resting  on  his  breast,  and  regarded  in- 
Itently  a  door  in  the  other  side  of  the  saloon.  And 
I  another  sat  bending  his  hat  into  so  many  shapes, 
that  he  left  it,  in  the  end,  of  no  shape  at  all.  But 
all  were  marked  by  the  knitted  brow  and  anxious 
eye,  for  men  whose  fate  was  hanging  on  the  breath 
of  another. 

There  was  nothing  consolatory  in  theirlooks,  and 
De  Blenau  turned  to   the   portraits   whicl)    covered 
the  walls  of  the  saloon.     The  first  that  his  eye  fell 
<  upon    was    that  of  the  famous  Montmorency.     He 
>  was    represented   as  armed  in  steel,  with  the  head 
uncovered  ;    and   from  his   apparent  age  it  seemed 
that  the  picture  had  not  been   painted   long  before 
the    unfortunate   conspiracy,  which,  by  its  failure, 
brought  him  to  the  scaffold.     There  was  also  an  ex- 
pression of  grave  sadness  in  the  countenance,  as  if 
I  he  had  presaged  his  approaching  fate.     De  Blenau 
(turned  to  another;  but  it  so  happened  that  each  pic- 
Sture  in  the  room  represented  some  one  of  the  many 
jwhom  Richelieu's  unsparing   vengeance   had  over- 
f  taken.     Whether  they  were  placed  in  that  wailiog- 
:  room  in  order  to  overawe  those  whom  the  minister 
wished   to  intimidate;  or  whether  it  was  that  the 
famous  gallery,  which  the   cardinal   had  filled  with 
portraits  of  all  the  principal  historical  characters  of 
France,  would  contain  no  more,  and  that  in   conse- 
iquerice  the  pictures   of  the    later   dates  had    been 
placed    in   tliis  saloon,  without  any  deeper  intent, 
matters  not ;  but  at  all  events  they   offered  no  very 
pleasant  subject  of  contemplation. 
De  Blenau,  however,  was  not  long  ker>t   in   sua- 


14)  RIOHELIEtl. 

pense ;  for,  in  a  few  minutes,  the  door  on  the  other 
side  of  the  room  opened,  and  the  Swedish  ambas- 
sador passed  out.  The  door  shut  behind  him,  but 
in  a  moment  after  an  attendant  entered,  and  although 
several  others  had  been  waiting  before  him,  De 
Blenau  was  the  first  summoned  to  the  presence  of 
the  cardinal. 

He  could  not  help  feeling  as  if  he  wronged  those 
he  left  still  in  doubt  as  to  their  fate  :  but  following 
the  officer  through  an  ante-room,  he  entered  the 
audience  closet,  and  immediately  perceived  Riche- 
lieu seated  at  a  table,  over  which  were  strewed  a 
multitude  of  papers  of  different  dimensions,  some  of 
which  he  was  busily  engaged  in  examining; — read- 
ing them  he  was  not,  for  his  eye  glanced  so  rapidly- 
over  their  contents,  that  his  knowledge  of  each> 
could  be  but  general.  He  paused  for  a  moment  as 
De  Blenau  entered,  bowed  his  head,  pointed  to  a 
seat,  and  resumed  his  employment.  When  he  had 
done,  he  signed  the  papers,  and  gave  them  to  a  dull- 
looking  personage,  in  a  black  silk  pourpoint,  who 
stood  behind  his  chair.  ' 

"  Take  these  three  death-warrants."'  said  he,  "to 
Monsieur  Lnfemas,  and  then  ttiese  others  toPoterie  ' 
at  the  Bastille.  But  no — stop."  he  continued,  after  ' 
a  moment's  thousht;  "you  had  better  go  to  the' 
Bastille  first,  for  Poteiie  can  put  Caply  to  the  tor- 
ture, while  you  are  gone  to  Lafemas  ;  and  you  can 
bring  me  back  his  confession  as  you  return." 

De  Blenau  shuddered  at  the  sand  froid  with 
which  the  minister  commanded  those  things  that' 
make  one's  blood  curdle  even  to  imagine.  But  the  • 
attendant  was  practised  in  such  commissions  ;  and 
taking  the  packets,  a<?  a  more  matter  of  course,  he 
bowed  in  silence,  and  disappearing  by  a  door  on 
the  other  side,  left  De  Blenau  alone  with  the  car- 
dinal. 

"  Well,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  said  Richelieu, 
looking  up  with  a  frank  smile,  "'  your  pardon  for 
having  detained  you.  There  are  many  things  upon 
which  I  have  long  ^rjshed  to  speak,  to  you,  and  this  ; 


RIOHELIffU.  14S 

caused  me  to  desire  your  company.  But  1  have  no 
doubt  that  we  shall  part  perfectly  satisfied  with  each 
other.-' 

The  cardinal  paused,  as  if  for  a  reply.  "  I  hope 
80  too,  my  lord.  I  can,  of  course,  have  no  cause 
to  be  dissatisfied  with  your  eminence  ;  and  for  my 
own  part,  1  feel  my  bosom  to  be  clear/'  said  De 
Blenau. 

"  1  doubt  it  not,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  replied  the 
minister,  with  a  gracious  inclination  of  the  head  } 
''  1  doubt  it  not ;  [  know  your  spirit  to  be  too  frank 
and  noble  to  mingle  in  petty  faction  and  treasonable 
cabal.  No  one  more  admires  your  brave  and  inde- 
pendent bearing  than  myself.  You  must  remember 
that  I  have  marked  you  from  your  youth.  You  have 
been  educated,  as  it  were,  under  my  own  eye ;  and 
were  it  now  necessary  to  trust  the  welfare  of  the 
state  to  the  honor  of  any  one  man,  I  would  confide 
it  to  the  honor  of  De  Blenau." 

"  To  what,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  can  this  lead  1" 
!  thought   De  Blenau  ;  but  he  bowed  without  reply, 
and  the  cardinal  proceeded. 

"  I  have,  for  some  time  past,"  he  continued, 
I  "  been  thinking  of  placing  you  in  one  of  those  high 
I  stations,  to  which  your  rank  and  consideration  enti- 
,  tie  you  to  aspire.  At  present,  none  are  vacant;  but 
{  as  a  fore-runner  to  such  advancement,  I  propose  to 
li  call  you  to  the  council,  and  to  give  you  the  govern- 
I  Hient  of  Foitou." 

De  Blenau  was  now,  indeed,  astonished.  The 
cardinal  was  not  a  man  to  jest:  and  yet  what  he 
proposed  as  a  mere  preliminary,  was  an  offer  that  the 
first  noble  in  France  might  have  accepted  with  glad- 
ness. The  count  was  about  to  speak.  But  Riche- 
lieu paused  only  for  a  moment,  to  observe  the  effect 
of  what  he  had  said  upon  his  auditor  ;  and  perhaps 
over-rating  the  ambition  of  De  Blenau,  ho  proceed- 
ed more  boldly. 

''  1  do  not  pretend  to  say,  notwithstanding  my 
sense  of  your  high  merit,  and  my  almost  parental 
feelings  towards  you,  that  I  am  wholly  moved  to 


144  RiCHELlEW. 

this  by  rny  individual  regard  ;  but  the  truth  is,  that 
the  state  requires,  at  this  raoraent,  the  services  of 
one,  who  joins  to  high  talents  a  thorough  knowledge 
of  the  affairs  of  Spain." 

"  So  !"  thought  De  Blenau,  "  I  have  it  now.  The 
government  of  Foitou,  and  a  seat  at  the  council, 
provided  I  betray  tlie  queen  and  sell  my  own 
honor."  Richelieu  seemed  to  wait  an  answer,  and 
De  Blenau  replied  :  '•  If  your  eminence  means  to 
attribute  such  knowledge  to  me,  some  one  must 
have  greatly  misled  you.  I  possess  no  information 
on  the  affairs  of  Spam  whatever,  except  from  the 
common  reports  and  journals  of  the  time." 

This  reply  did  not  seem  to  affect  Richelieu's  in- 
tentions. "  Well,  well,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  said 
he,  with  a  smile,  "you  will  take  your  seat  at  the 
council,  and  will,  of  course,  as  a  good  subject  and 
an  honorable  man,  communicate  to  us  whatever  in- 
formation you  possess  on  those  points  which  con- 
cern the  good  of  the  state.  We  do  not  expect  all  at 
once  ;  and  every  thing  shall  be  done  to  smooth  your 
way,  and  facilitate  your  views.  Then,  perhaps,  if 
Richelieu  live  to  execute  the  plans  he  has  formed, 
you,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,  following  his  path,  and 
sharing  his  confidence,  may  be  ready  to  take  his 
place  when  death  shall  at' length  call  him  from 
iL" 

The  cardinal  counted  somewhat  too  much  on  De 
Blenau's  ambition,  and  not  sufficiently  on  his  know- 
ledge of  the  world;  and  imagining  that  he  had,  the 
evening  before,  discovered  the  weak  point  in  the 
character  of  the  young  count,  he  thought  to  lead 
him  to  any  thing  by  holding  out  to  him  extravagant 
prospects  of  future  greatness.  The  dish,  however, 
was  somewhat  too  highly  flavored;  and  De  Blenau 
replied,  with  a  smile,— 

"  Your  eminence  is  exceedingly  good  to  think  at 
all  of  me,  in  the  vast  and  more  important  projects 
which  occupy  your  mind.  But,  alas  !  my  lord,  De 
Blenau  would  prove  but  a  poor  successor  to  Riche- 
lieu.   No,  my  lord  cardinal,"  he  continued,  ''I  have 


RICHELIEU.  145 

no  ambition  ;  that  is  a  passion  wliich  Bhould  be  re- 
served for  such  great  and  comprehensive  minds  as 
yours.  I  am  contented  as  I  am.  High  stations  are 
always  stations  of  daiiger." 

"  I  had  heard  tliat  the  Count  de  Blenau  was  no 
way  fearful,"  said  Richelieu,  fixing  on  him  a  keen 
and  almost  scornful  glance.  '•  Was  the  report  a 
mistake  ?  or  is  it  lately  he  has  become  afraid  of  dan- 
ger ?' 

De  Blenaa  was  piqued,  and  lost  temper.  "Of 
personal  dajigcr,  my  lord,  I  am  never  afraid/'  repli- 
ed he.  '•  But  when  along  with  risk  to  myself  is  in- 
volved danger  to  my  friends,  danger  to  my  country. 
danger  to  my  honor,  and  danger  to  my  soul,"  and 
he  returned  the  cirdinal's  glance  full  as  proudly  as 
it  had  been  given  j  "  tlien,  my  lord  cardinal,  I  would 
say,  it  were  no  cowardice,  but  true  coura^^e  to  fly 
from  sucli  peril — unless,''  he  added,  rensembering 
the  folly  of  opposing  the  irritable  and  unscrupulous 
minister,  and  thinking  that  his  words  had,  perhaps, 
been  already  too  war.m — '•  unless,  indeed,  one  felt 
within  one's  breast  the  mind  of  Richelieu." 

While  Da  Blenau  spoke,  the  cardinal's  brow  knit- 
ted into  a  frown.  A  flush  too  came  over  Irs  ch  )ek  ; 
and  untying  the  riband  which  served  as  a  lasLcning, 
he  took  off  the  velvet  cap  he  generally  wore,  as  if 
to  give  himself  air  He  heard  him,  however,  to  the 
end,  and  the  )  answered  dryly,  '■  You  speak  well. 
Monsieur  de  Blenau,  and,  1  doubt  not,  feel  what  you 
say.  But  am  I  to  understand  you,  that  you  refuse 
to  aid  us  at  the  council  with  your  information  and 
advice  V 

"  So  far.  your  eminence  is  right,"  replied  the 
count,  who  saw  that  the  storm  was  now  about  to 
break  upon  his  head  ;  "  I  must,  indeed,  decline  the 
honors  which  you  o.Tor  with  so  bountiful  a  hand. 
But  do  not  suppose  that  I  do  so  from  unwillingness 
to  yield  you  any  inf«)rinali()n  ;  for,  truly,  I  have  none 
to  give.  I  have  never  meddled  with  politics.,  t 
have  never  turned  my  attention  to  state  affairs  3  and 
VOL.  I.  '      10 


146  RICHELIElf. 

therefore  still  less  could  1  yield  you  any  advice. 
Your  eminence  weuld  be  wofully  disappointed, 
when  you  expected  to  find  a  man  well  acquainted 
with  the  arts  of"  government,  and  deep  read  in  the 
designs  of  foreign  states,  to  meet  witli  one  whose 
best  knowledge  is  to  range  a  battalion  or  to  pierce 
a  boar;  a  soldier,  and  not  a  diplomatist ;  a  hunter. 
and  not  a  statesman.  As  to  the  government  of 
Poitou,  my  lord,  its  only  good  would  be  the  emolu- 
ment, and  already  ray  revenues  are  far  more  than 
adequate  to  my  wants." 

"  You  refuse  my  kindness,  sir/'  replied  the  car- 
dinal, with  an  air  of  deep  determined  haughtiness, 
very  different  from  the  urbanity  with  which  he  had 
at  nrst  received  De  Blenau  ;  "  I  must  now  speak  to 
you  in  tnother  tone.  And  let  me  warn  you  to  be- 
ware •f  what  you  say  ;  for  be  assured,  that  1  already 
possess  sufficient  information  to  confound  you  if  you 
should  prevaricate.'"' 

"My  lord  cardinal,"  replied  De  Blenaa.  some- 
what hastily,  "  I  am  not  accustomed  to  prevaricate. 
Ask  any  questions  you  please,  and,  so  long  as  my 
honor  and  my  duty  go  with  tliem,  1  will  answer 
you." 

"Then  there  are  questions,"  said  the  cardinal, 
"that  you  would  think  against  your  duty  to  an- 
■wer '." 

"I  said  not  so,  your  eminence,"  replied  Be  Blenau. 
"In  the  examination  I  find  I  am  to  undergo,  give 
my  words  their  full  meaning,  if  you  please,  but  no 
more  than  their  meaning.'" 

"Well  then,  sir,  answer  me  as  a  man  of  honor 
»Dd  a  French  noble,"  said  the  cardinal ;  "  Arc  you 
not  aware  of  a  correspondence  that  has  been,  and 
is  now,  carried  on  between  Anne  of  Austria  and 
Don  Froncisco  dc  Mello,  governor  of  the  Low 
Countries  V 

"I  know  not  whom  you  mcnn,  sir,  by  Anne  of 
Austria,"' replied  Do  Blenau.  '•  If  it  be  her  majesty, 
your  queen  and  mine,  that  you  eo  designate,  I  reply 


/ 


RICHEL1E9.  147 

at  once  that  I  know  of  no  such  correspondence,  nor 
do  1  believe  that  it  exists," 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Monsieur  de  Bienau,"  de- 
manded the  cardinal,  fixing  his  keen  sunken  eyes 
upon  the  young  count  with  that  basilisk  glance  for 
which  he  was  famous — "Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  yourself  have  not  forwarded  letters  from  the 
queen  to  Madame  de  Chevreuse  and  Don  Francisco 
de  Mello  by  a  private  channel  1  Pause,  Monsieur 
de  Bienau,  before  you  answer,  and  be  well  assured 
that  I  am  acquainted  with  every  particular  of  your 
conduct." 

"  Vour  eminence  is,  no  doubt,  acquainted  with 
much  more  intricate  subjects  than  any  of  my  ac- 
tions," replied  the  count.  "  With  regard  to  Madame 
de  Chcvreuso,  her  majesty  has  no  need  to  conceal 
a  correspondence  with  her,  which  has  been  fully 
pernaitted  and  sanctioned  both  by  your  eminence 
and  the  still  higher  authority  of  the  king  ;  and  1  may 
add,  that  to  my  certain  knowledge,  letters  have  gone 
to  that  lady  by  your  own  courier.  On  the  other 
point,  1  have  answered  already ;  and  have  only  to 
say  once  more,  that  I  know  of  no  such  correspon- 
dence, nor  would  1,  assuredly,  lend  myself  to  any 
such  measures,  which  I  should  conceive  to  be  trea- 
sonable." 

"  I  have  always  hitherto  supposted  you  to  be  a 
man  of  honor,"  said  the  cardinal,  coolly  5  "  but  what 
must  I  conceive  now,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  when  1 
tell  you  that  I  have  those  very  letters  in  my  posses- 
sion 1" 

"  You  may  conceive  what  you  please,  sir,"  re- 
plied De  Bienau,  giving  way  to  his  indignation  j 
"  but  I  will  dare  any  man  to  lay  before  me  a  letter 
from  her  majesty  to  the  person  you  mention, 
which  has  passed  through  the  hands  of  De 
Bienau." 

The  cardinal  did  not  reply  :  opening  an  ebony 
cabinet  which  stood  on  his  right-hand,  he  took  from 
one  of  the  compartments  a  small  bundle  of  papers, 
from  which  he  selected  one,  and  laid  it  on  the   ta- 


14S  RiOHELIBir. 

ble  before  the  count,  who  had  hitherto  looked  ort 
with  no  small  wonder  and  expectation.  *'  Do  yon 
know  that  writing,  sir  ?"  demanded  the  cardinal, 
still  keeping  hia  hand  upon  the  paper,  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  allow  only  a  word  or  two  to  be  visi- 
ble. 

De  BfenaQ  examined  the  line  which  the  cardinal 
suffered  to  appear,  and  replied — "  From  what  little  I 
can  see,  I  should  imagine  it  to  be  the  handwriting 
of  her  majesty.  But  that  does  not  show  that  I  have 
any  thing  to  do  with  it." 

'•  But  there  is  that  in  it  which  does,"  answered 
Richelieu,  folding  down  a  Une  or  two  of  the  letter, 
and  pointing  out  to  the  count  a  sentence  which  saicl, 
"This  will  be  conveyed  to  you  by  the  Count  de 
Blenau,  who,  you  know,  never  fails." 

"  Now,  sir  V  continued  the  cardinal,  "  oncie  more 
let  me  advise  yon  to  give  me  all  you  possess  upon 
this  subject.  From  a  feeling  a  personal  regard,  i 
have  had  too  much  patience  with  you  already." 

"All  1  can  reply  to  your  eminence,"  answered 
the  count,  not  a  little  embarrassed,  "  is,  that  no  let- 
ter whatever  has  been  conveyed  by  me,  knowingly, 
to  the  governor  of  the  Low  Countries." 

De  Bienau's  eyes  naturally  Mxed  on  the  paper, 
which  still  lay  on  the  table,  and  frf)m  wliich  the  car- 
dinal had  by  this  time  withdrawn  his  haird  ;  and  feel- 
ing that  both  life  and  honor  depended  upon  that 
docoment,  he  resolved  to  ascertain  its  authenticity,- 
of  which  he  entertained  some  doubt. 

"  Slop,'' said  he,  hastily,  '"let  me  look  at  the- 
superscription,"  and  before  Richelieu  could  reply, 
he  had  raised  it  from  the  table  and  turned  to  the  ad- 
dress. One  gh\nce  was  enough  to  satisfy  him,  and 
he  returned  i^  to  the  cardinal  with  a  cool  and  mean- 
ing smile,  repeatin;j  the  words — "  To  Madame  de 
ChevreuseJ" 

At  first  the  cardinal   had  instinctively    stretched 
out  his  hand  to  stop  De  Blerrau  in  his  purpose,  but 
he  instantly  recovered  himself,  nor  did   his  counte-  j 
nanc«  betray  the  least  change  of  feeling.     "  ^V•11,/ 


RICMELIEW.  149 

sir,"  replied  he,  "you  said  that  you  would  dare 
any  one  to  lay  before  you  a  letter  from  the  queen 
to  the  person  I  mentioned.  Did  I  not  mention 
Madame  de  Chevreuse,  and  is  not  there  the  let- 
ter?' 

"  Your  eminence  has  mistaken  me,"  replied  De 
Blenau's  bowing  his  head,  and  smiling  at  the  minis- 
ter's art;  "I  meant  Don  Francisco  de  Mello.  I 
had  answered  what  you  said  in  regard  to  Madame 
de  Chevreuse  before," 

"  I  did  mistake  you  then,  sir,"  said  the  cardinal ; 
"but  it  was  from  the  ambiguity  of  your  own  words. 
However,  passing  over  your  boldness,  in  raising  that 
letter  without  my  permission,  1  will  show  you  that 
I  know  more  of  your  proceedings  than  you  sus- 
pect. 1  will  tell  you  the  very  terms  of  "the  mes- 
sage you  sent  to  the  queen,  after  you  were  wound- 
ed in  the  wood  of  Mantes,  conveying  to  her  that 
you  had  not  lost  the  packet  with  which  you  were 
charged.  Did  not  Seguin  tell  her,  on  your  part,  that 
though  the  wound  was  in  your  side,  your  heart  was 
not  injured?" 

I  "  1  dare  say  he  did,  my  lord,"  replied  De  Blenau, 
coolly  5  "  and  the  event  has  proved  that  he  was  quite 
right,  for  your  eminence  must  perceive  that  I  was 
quite  recovered,  which,  of  course,  could  not  have 
been  the  case  had  any  vital  part  been  hurt.  But  I 
hope,  your  eminence,  that  there  is  no  offence,  in 
your  eyes,  either  in  having  sent  the  queen,  my  mis- 
tress, an  account  of  my  health,  or  in  having  escaped 
the  attack  of  assassins." 

A  slight  flush  passed  over  Richelieu's  cheek. 
"  You  may  chance  to  fall  into  less  scrupulous  hands 
than  even  theirs,"  replied  he.  "  I  am  certainly  in- 
formed sir,  that  you,  on  the  part  of  the  queen,  have 
been  carrying  on  a  treasonabl«  intercourse  with 
Spain — a  country  at  war  with  France,  to  whose 
crown  you  are  a  born  subject  and  vassal ;  and  1 
have  to  tell  you  that  the  punishment  of  such  a 
jcrime  is  death.    Yes,  sir,  you  may  knit  your  brow. 


ISO  RICMELIEU. 

But  no  consideration  shall  stay  me  from  visiting', 
with  the  full  severity  of  the  law,  such  as  do  so  of- 
fend ;  and  though  the  information  I  want  be  but 
small,  depend  upon  it,  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  em- 
ploy the  most  powerful  means  to  wring  it  from 
you/' 

De  Blenau  had  no  difficulty  in  comprehending 
the  nature  of  those  means  to  which  the  cordinal  al- 
luded 3  but  his  mind  was  made  up  to  suffer  the 
worst.  ••  My  Lord  Cardinal,"  replied  he,  "  what 
your  intentions  are  1  know  not  5  but  be  sure,  that  to 
whatever  extremes  you  may  go,  you  can  wring  no- 
thing from  me  but  what  you  have  already  heard.  I 
once  more  assure  you  that  1  know  of  no  treasonable 
correspondence  whatsoever;  and  firm  in  my  own 
innocence,  I  equally  despise  all  attempts  to  bribe  or 
to  intimidate  me." 

"  Sir.  you  are  intolentl''  replied  the  cardinal,  ris- 
ing :  '•  Use  no  such  language  to  me  I — ^-\re  you  not 
an  insect  I  can  sweep  from  my  path  in  an  instant! 
Ho,  a  guard  there  without ! '  We  shall  soon  see 
whether  you  know  aught  of  Philip  of  Spain." 

Had  the  cardinal's  glance  been  directed  towards 
De  Blenau,  he  would  have  seen,  that  at  the  name 
of  Philip  of  Spain,  a  degree  of  paleness  came  over 
his  cheek  3  but  another  object  had  caugiit  Riche- 
lieu's eye.  and  he  did  not  observe  it.  It  was  the  en- 
trance of  the  attendant  whom  he  had  despatched 
with  the  death-warrants,  which  now  drew  his  no- 
tice; and  well  pleased  to  show  De  Blenau  the  dread- 
ful means  he  so  unscrupulously  employed  to  extort 
confession  from  those  he  suspected,  he  eagerly  de- 
manded, "  What  news  ?" 

"  May  it  please  your  eminence,"  said  the  atten- 
dant, "  Caply  died  under  the  torture.  In  truth  it 
was  soon  over  with  him.  for  he  did  not  bear  it  above 
ten  minutes." 

"  But  the  confession,  the  confession  1"  exclaimed 
Richelieu.     "  Where  is  the  proces  verbal?" 

"  Ho  made  no  oonfession,  sir,"  replied  the  roan. 


RICriELIEU.  Iftl 

'■  He  protested  to  the  last  his  innocence,  and  that  he 
knew  nothing." 

"  Pshaw  !"  said  Richelieu  ;  "  they  let  hiin  die  too 
soon  3  they  should  have  given  him  wine  to  keep  him 
up.  Foolish  idiot,"  he  continued,  as  if  meditating 
over  the  death  of  his  victim  j  "  had  he  but  told  what 
he  was  commanded,  he  would  have  saved  himself 
from  a  death  of  horror.  Such  is  the  meed  of  ob- 
stinacy." 

"Such,'*'  thought  De  Blenau,  "is,  unhappily, often 
the  reward  of  firmness  and  integrity.  But  such  a 
death  is  honorable  in  itself." 

No  one  could  better  read  in  the  face  what  was 
passing  in  the  mind  that  Richelieu,  and  it  is  proba- 
ble that  he  easily  say  in  the  countenance  of  De 
Blenau,  the  feelings  excited  by  what  had  just  pas- 
sed. He  remembered  also  the  promise  given  by 
Chavigni ;  and  if,  when  he  called  the  guard,  he  had 
ever  seriously  proposed  to  arrest  De  Bknau,  he 
abandoned  his  intention  for  the  moment.  Not  that 
the  high  tone  of  the  young  count's  4»nguage  was 
either  unfelt  or  forgiven,  for  Richelieu  never  par- 
doned -,  but  it  was  as  easy  to  arrest  De^lenau  at  St. 
Germain's  as  in  Paris ;  and  the  wily  minister  cal- 
culated that  by  giving  him  a  little  liberty,  and  throw- 
ing him  off  his  guard,  he  might  be  tempted  to  do 
those  things  which  would  put  him  more  completely 
in  the  power  of  the  government,  and  give  the  means 
of  punishing  him  for  his  pride  and  obstinacy,  as  it 
was  internally  termed  by  a  man  long  accustomed  to 
any  opposition. 

De  Blenau  was  principally  obnoxious  to  the  car- 
dinal, as  the  confidant  of  the  queen,  and  from  being 
the  chief  of  her  adherents,  both  by  his  rank,  wealth, 
and  reputation.  Anne  of  Austria  having  now  be- 
come the  only  apparent  object  which  could  cloud 
the  sky  of  Richelieu's  political  power,  he  had  re- 
solved either  to  destroy  her  by  driving  her  to  some 
criminal  act,  or  so  to  entangle  her  in  liis  snares  as 
to  reduce  her  to  become  a  mere   instrument  in  hif 


152  RICHELIEU. 

hands  and  for  his  purpose?.  To  arrest  De  Blenaa 
would  put  the  queen  upon  hergua^d  :  and  therefore, 
the  minister,  without  hesitation, resolved  to  dissem- 
ble his  resentment,  and  allow  the  count  to  depart 
in  peace  3  reserving  for  another  time  the  vengeance 
he  had  determined  should  nveriakee  him  at  last. 
Nor  was  his  dissembling  of  that  weak  nature  which 
those  employ  who  have  all  the  will  to  deceive, 
without  the  art  of  deceiving. 

Richelieu  walked  rapidly  up  and  down  the  closet 
for  moment,  as  if  striving  to  repress  some  strong 
emotion,  then  stepped,  and  turning  to  De  Blenaa 
with  some  frankness  of  manner,  "Monsieur  le 
Comte,""  said  he,  ''  I  will  own  that  you  have  heated 
me, — perhaps  I  have  given  way  to  it  too  much.  But 
you  ought  to  be  more  careful  of  your  words,  sir,  and 
remember  that  with  men  whose  power  you  cannot 
resist,  it  is  sometimes  dangerous  even  to  be  in  the 
right,  much  more  to  make  them  feel  it  rudely. 
However,  it  is  all  past,  and  I  will  now  detain  you 
no  longer  ;  trusting  to  your  word  that  the  informa- 
tion which  I  have  received  is  without  foundation. 
Let  me  only  add,  that  you  might  have  raised  your- 
self this  day  to  a  height  which  few  men  in  France 
would  not  struggle  to  attain.  But  that  is  past  also, 
and  may.  perhaps,  never  return." 

"1  am  most  grateful,  believe  me,"' replied  De 
Blenau,  "  for  all  the  favors  your  eminence  intended 
me  ;  and  1  have  no  doubt  that  you  will  soon  find 
some  other  person  on  whom  to  bestow  them,  much 
more  worthy  of  them  than  myself.'" 

Richelieu  bowed  low,  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the 
count  without  a  reply — a  signal  that  the  audience 
was  over,  which  was  not  lost  upon  De  Blenau,  who 
Yery  gladly  took  his  leave  of  the  minister,  hoping 
most  devoutly  never  to  see  his  face  again.  The 
ambiguity  of  his  Inst  sentence,  however,  had  not 
esca()ed  the  cardinal. 

'•  So,  Monsieur  de  Blenau  !'"  said  he,  as  soon  a» 
the  count  had  left   him,   "  you  can   make  speeches 


RICH  ELI  EO.  15  J 

with  a  double  meaning  also  !  Can  you  so  ?  you  may 
rMe  it  though,  for  I  will  find  means  to  bend  your 
proud  spirit,  or  to  break  it ;  and  that  before  three 
days  be  over.  Is  every  thing  prepared  for  my  pas- 
sage to  Chantilly  V  he  continued,  turning  to  the 
attendant. 

"  All  is  prepared,  please  your  eminence," 
replied  the  man  ;  "  and  as  I  passed  I  saw  Mon- 
sieur de  Chavigni  getting  into  his  chaise  to  set 
out." 

"  We  will  let  him  be  an  hour  or  two  in  advance," 
said  the  cardinal.  "  Send  in  the  Marquis  de  Gou- 
mont ;"  and  he  agrain  applied  himself  to  other  af- 
fairs. 


154  RICHELIEU. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


"Au    entire    new    comedy,  with    new   scenery,  dresses,  and 
decorations." 

The  little  village  of  Mesnil  St.  Loup,  all  insig- 
nificant as  it  is,  was  at  the  time  of  my  tale  a  place 
of  even  less  consequence  than  it  appears  now-a-days, 
when  nine  people  out  of  ten  have  scarcely  ever 
heard  of  its  existence. 

It  was,  nevertheless,  a  pretty-looking  place  ;  and 
had  its  little  auberge  on  the  same  scale  and  in  the 
same  style  as  the  village  to  which  ii  belonged, — 
small,  neat,  and  picturesque,  with  its  high  pole  be- 
fore the  door,  crowned  with  a  gay  garland  of  flowers, 
which  served  both  for  sign  and  inscription  to  the 
inn ;  being  fully  as  comprehensible  an  intimation 
to  the  peasantry  of  the  day,  that  "  Bon  vin  et  bonne 
chere"  were  to  be  obtained  within,  as  the  most  art- 
ful flourish  of  a  modern  sign-painter. 

True  it  is  that  the  little  cabaret  of  Mesnil  St. 
Loup  was  seldom  troubled  with  the  presence  of  a 
traveller;  but  there  the  country  people  would  con- 
gregate after  the  labors  of  the  day,  and  enjoy  their 
simple  sports  with  a  relish  that  luxury  knows  not. 
The  high  road  from  Paris  to  Troyes  passed  quite  in 
another  direction  ;  and  a  stranger  in  Mesnil  St.  Loup 
wais  a  far  greater  stranger  than  he  could  possibly 
have  been  anywhere  else,  except  perhaps  in  newly- 
discovered  America.  For  there  was  nothing  to  ex- 
cite either  interest  or  curiosity ;  except  it  were  the 
little  church  which  had  seen  many  a  century  pass 
over  its  primitive  walls,  remaining  still  unaltered, 
while  five  or  six  old  trees,  which  had  been  its  com- 
panions for  time  out  of  mind,  began  to  show  strong 
iigni   of  decay  in   their    rifted   bark  and  falling 


RICHELIEU,  155 

branches,  but  still  formed  a  picturesque  group,  with 
a  great  stone  cross  and  fountain  underneath  them, 
and  a  seat  for  the  weary  traveller  to  rest  himself  in 
their  shade. 

Thus  Mesnil  St.  Loup  was  little  known  to  stran- 
gers, for  its  simplicity  had  no  attractions  for  the 
many.  Nevertheless,  on  one  fine  evening,  some- 
where about  the  beginning  of  September,  the 
phenomenon  of  a  new  face  showed  itself  at  Mesnil 
St.  Loup.  The  personage  to  whom  it  appeartained 
was  a  horseman  of  small  mean  appearance,  who, 
having  passed  by  the  church,  rode  through  the  vil- 
lage to  the  auberge,  and  having  raised  his  eyes  to 
the  garland  over  the  door,  he  divined  from  it,  that 
he  himself  would  find  there  good  champaigne  wine,, 
and  his  horse  would  meet  with  entertainment 
equally  adapted  to  his  peculiar  taste.  Thereupon 
the  stranger  alighted  and  entered  the  place  of  pub 
lie  reception,  without  making  any  of  that  bustle 
about  himself,  which  the  landlord  seemed  well  in- 
clined to  do  for  him  ;  but  on  the  contrary  sat  him- 
self down  in  the  most  shady  corner,  ordered  his  bot- 
tle of  wine,  and  inquired  what  means  the  house  af- 
forded of  satisfying  his  hunger,  in  a  low  quiet  tone 
of  voice,  which  reached  no  farther  than  the  person 
he  addressed. 

"  As  for  wine,"  the  host  replied,  "  Monsieur 
should  have  such  wine  that  the  first  merchant  of 
Epernay  might  prick  his  ears  at  it  j  and  in  regard  to 
eatables,  what  could  be  better  than  stewed  eels,  out 
of  the  river  hard  by,  and  a.  civet  de  lievre? — Monsieur 
need  not  be  afraid,"  he  added ;  "it  was  a  real  hare 
he  had  snared  that  morning  himself,  in  the  forest 
under  the  hill.  Some  dishonorable  innkeepers," 
he  observed — "  innkeepers  unworthy  of  the  name, 
would  dress  up  cats  and  rats,  and  such  animals,  in 
the  form  of  hares  and  rabbits ;  even  as  the  devil 
had  been  known  to  assume  the  appearance  of  an 
angel  of  light;  but  he  scorned  such  practices,  and 
could  not  only  show  his  hare's  skin,  but  his  hare 
in  the  skin.    Farther,  be  would  give  monsieur  an 


156  KICH£LIE¥. 

ortolan  in  a  vine  leaf,  and  a  dish  of  stewed  sor- 
rel." 

The  stranger  underwent  the  innkeeper's  oration 
with  most  exemplary  putience.  signitied  bis  appro- 
bation of  the  proposed  dinner,  without  attacking 
the  hare's  reputation  ;  and  when  at  length  it  was 
placed  before  liim,  he  ate  his  meal  and  drank  his 
wine  in  profound  silence,  without  a  word  of  praise 
or  blame  to  either  one  or  the  other.  The  landlord, 
with  all  his  sturdy  loquacity,  failed  in  more  than 
one  attempt  to  draw  him  into  conversation  ;  and  the 
hostess,  though  none  of  the  oldest  or  ugliest,  could 
scarce  win  a  syllable  from  his  lips,  even  by  asking 
if  he  were  pleased  with  his  fare.  The  taciturn 
stranger  merely  bowed  his  head,  and  seemed  little 
inclined  to  exert  his  oratorical  powers,  more  than 
by  the  simple  demand  of  what  he  wanted  ;  so  that 
both  mine  host  and  hostess  gave  him  up  in  despair 
— the  one  concluding  that  he  was  "  an  odd  one," 
and  the  other  declaring  that  he  was  as  stupid  as  he 
was  ugly. 

This  lasted  some  time,  till  one  villager  after  an- 
other having  exhausted  every  excuse  for  staying  to 
hear  whether  the  stranger  would  open  his  lips, 
dropped  away  in  his  turn,  and  left  the  apartment 
vacant.  It  was  then,  and  not  till  then,  that  mine 
host  was  somewhat  surprised  by  hearing  the  silent 
traveller  pronounce  in  a  most  audible  and  impera- 
tive manner,  "  Gaultier.  come  here."  The  first 
cause  of  astonishment  was  to  hear  him  speak  at  all  j 
and  the  next  to  find  his  own  proper  name  of  Gaul- 
tier so  familiar  to  the  stranger,  forgetting  that  it  had 
been  vociferated  at  kast  one  hundred  times  that 
night  in  his  presence.  However.  Gaultier  obeyed 
his  summons  with  all  speed,  and  approaching  the 
stranger  with  a  low  reverence,  begged  to  know  his 
good-will  and  pleasure. 

"  Your  wine  is  good,  Gaultier,"  said  the  stranger, 
raising  his  clear  gray  eyes  to  the  rosy  round  of 
Gaultier's  physiognomy.  Even  an  innkeeper  is  sus- 
ceptible of  flattery  j  and  Gaultier  bent  hia  head  down 


RICH  EMEU.  157 

towards  the  ground,  as  if  he  were  going  to  do  kou- 
tou< 

"  Gaultier,  bring  me  another  bottle,"  said  the 
stranger.  This  phrase  was  better  than  the  former ; 
that  sort  of  substantial  flattery  that  goes  straight  to 
an  innkeeper's  heart.  Truly,  it  is  a  pity  that  inn- 
keepers are  such  selfish  beings.  And  yet  it  is  na- 
tural loo  5 — so  rapidly  does  mankind  pass  by  them, 
that  theirs  can  be,  at  best,  but  a  stagecoach  sort  of 
affection  for  their  fellow-creatures — I'he  coachman 
shuts  tlie  door — Drive  on  I — ^and  it  is  all  over.  Thus, 
my  dear  sir,  the  gayelies,  the  care,  and  the  bustle 
in  which  you  and  1  live,  render  our  hearts  but  as  an 
inn,  where  many  a  traveller  stays  for  an  hour,  pays 
his  score,  and  is  forgotten.  1  am  resolved  to  let 
mine  upon  lease. — 

The  bottle  of  wine  was  not  long  in  making  its  ap- 
pearance ;  and  as  G.iultier  set  it  on  the  table  be- 
fore the  stranger,  he  asked  if  he  could  serve  him 
farther. 

"  Can  you  show  me  the  way  to  the  old  Chateau 
of  St.  Loup  ?"  demanded  the  stranger. 

"  Surely,  I  can,  sir,"  replied  the  innkeeper  j  "  tliat 
is  to  say,  as  far  as  knowing  where  it  is.  But  I  hope 
monsieur  does  not  mean  to-night." 

"  Indeed  do  I,"  answered  the  stranger  j  "  and  pray 
why  not  ?  The  night  is  the  same  as  the  day  to  an 
honest  man." 

"  No  doubr,  no  doubt !"  exclaimed  Gaultier,  with 
the  greatest  doubt  in  the  world  in  his  own  mind. — 
"  No  doubt  I  But.  Holy  Virgin  !  Jesu  preserve  us  I" 
— and  he  signed  the  cross  most  devoutly — "  vve  all 
know  that  there  are  spirits,  and  demons,  and  astrolo- 
gers, and  the  devil,  and  all  those  sort  of  things  ;  and 
1  would  not  go  throu<,ri)  liie  grove  where  old  Pere 
Le  i^ouge,  the  sorcerer,  was  burnt  alive,  not  to  be 
prime  minister,  or  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu,  or  any 
other  great  man,— that  is  to  say,  after  nightfall.  In 
the  day  I  would  go  anywhere,  or  do  any  thing. — I 
am  no  coward,  sir, — I  dare  do  any  thing.  My  lather 
Bcrvad   in   the   blessed  league  against  the   cursed 


158  RIOflKtlE^;. 

Huguenots— ^so  I  am  no  coward  ; — but  bless  you,  tir, 
I  will  tell  you  how  it  happened,  and  then  you  will 
see — '' 

"1  know  all  about  it,"  replied  the  stranger,  in  a 
voice  that  made  the  innkeeper  start,  and  look 
ever  his  left  shoulder;  "  I  know  all  about  it ;  but  sit 
down  and  drink  with  me,  to  keep  your  spirits  up, 
for  you  must  show  me  the  way  this  very  night.  Pere 
Le  Rouge  was  a  dear  friend  of  mine,  and  before  he 
was  burnt  for  a  sorcerer,  we  had  made  a  solemn  com- 
pact to  meet  once  every  ten  years.  Now,  if  you 
rtmember  aright,  it  is  just  ten  years,  this  very  day, 
since  he  was  executed  ;  and  there  is  no  bond  in  hell 
fast  enough  to  hold  him  from  meeting  me  to-night 
at  the  old  chateau.  So  sit  you  down  and  drink  1"  — 
And  he  poured  out  a  full  cup  of  wine  for  the  inn- 
keeper, who  looked  aghast  at  the  portentous  com- 
pact between  the  stranger  and  Pere  La  Rouge. 
However,  whether  it  was  that  Gaultier  was  too 
much  afraid  to  refuse,  or  had  too  much  esprit  de 
corps  not  to  drink  with  any  one  who  would  drink 
with  him,  can  hardly  be  determined  now;  but  so  it 
was,  that  sitting  down,  according  to  the  stranger's 
desire,  he  poured  the  whole  goblet  of  wine  down  his 
throat  at  one  draght,  and,  as  he  afterwards  averred, 
could  not  help  thinking  that  the  stranger  must  have 
enchanted  the  liquor,  for  no  sooner  ha!d  he  swallow- 
ed it,  than  his  fears  of  Pere  La  Rouge  began  to  die 
away,  like  morning  dreams.  However,  when  the 
goblet  was  drained,  Gaultier  began  more  justly  to 
estimate  the  danger  of  drinking  with  a  sorcerer ; 
and  that  the  stranger  was  such,  a  Champenois 
aubergiste  of  1642  could  never  be  supposed  to  doubt, 
after  the  diabolical  compact  so  unscrupulously  con- 
fessed. Under  this  impression,  he  continued  rolling 
his  empty  cup  about  upon  the  table,  revolving  at  the 
same  time  his  own  critical  situation,  and  endeavor- 
ing to  determine  what  might  be  his  duty  to  his  king 
and  country  under  such  perilous  circumstances. 
Rolling  the'cup  to  the  right— he  resolved  instantly 
to  denounce  this  milignant  enchanter  to  the  proper 


RICHELIEU.  169 

authorities,  and  have  him  forthwith  burnt  alive,  and 
Bent  to  join  P^re  Le  Rouge  in  the  other  world,  by 
▼irtue  of  the  humane  and  charitable  laws  in  that 
case  especially  made  and  provided.  Then  rolling 
his  cup  to  the  other  side — his  eye  glanced  towards 
the  stranger's  bottle,  and  resting  upon  the  vacuum 
which  their  united  thirst  had  therein  occasioned, 
his  heart  overflowed  with  the  milk  of  human  kind- 
ness, and  he  pitied  from  his  soul  that  perverted  taste 
which  could  lead  any  human  being  from  good 
liquor,  comfortable  lodging,  and  the  society  of  an 
innkeeper,  to  a  dark  wood  and  a  ruined  castle,  an 
old  roasted  sorcerer,  and  the  devil  perhaps  into  the 
bargain. 

"  Would  you  choose  another  bottle,  sir  V  de- 
manded Gaultier  J  and  as  his  companion  nodded  his 
head  in  token  of  assent,  was  about  to  proceed  on 
this  errand — with  the  laudable  intention  also  of 
sharing  all  his  newly  arisen  doubts  and  fears  with 
his  gentle  help-mate,  who,  for  her  part,  was  busily 
engaged  in  the  soft  domestic  duties  of  scolding  the 
stable-boy  and  boxing  the  maid's  ears.  But  the 
stranger  stopped  him,  perhaps  divining^and  not  very 
much  approving  the  aforesaid  communication.  He 
exclaimed,  "  La  Bourgeoise  !"  in  a  tone  of  voice 
which  over-powered  all  other  noises :  the  abuse  of 
the  dame  herself — the  tears  of  the  maid — the  excul- 
pation of  the  stable-boy — the  cackle  of  the  cocks 
and  hens,  which  were  on  a  visit  in  the  parlor — and 
the  barking  of  a  prick-eared  cur  included.  The 
fresh  bottle  soon  stood  upon  the  table;  and  while 
the  hostess  returned  to  her  former  tender  avoca- 
tions, the  stranger,  whose  clear  gray  eye  seemed 
reading  deeply  into  Gaultier's  heart,  continued  to 
drink  from  the  scanty  remains  of  his  own  bottle, 
leaving  mine  host  to  fill  from  that  which  was  hith- 
erto unconlaminated  by  any  other  touch  than  his 
own.  This  Gaultier  did  not  fail  to  do,  till  such 
lime  as  the  last  rays  of  the  sun,  which  had  con- 
tinued t«)  linger  fondly  amid  a  flight  of  light  feathery 


160  RICHELIEU. 

clouds  overhead,  had  ealircly  left  the  sky,  and  all 
was  gray. 

At  that  moment  the  stranger  drew  forth  hi^  purse, 
let  it  full  upon  ihe  table  with  a  he  ivy  sort  of  clink- 
ing sound,  shovving  that  the  louis-d'ors  wicliin  had 
hardly  room  to  josUe  against  each  oilier.  It  was  a 
lound  of  comfortable  plenty,  which  had  something 
in  it  irresistibly  attractive  to  the  ears  of  Gaultier  j 
and  as  he  stood  watching  while  the  stranger  insin- 
uated his  finger  and  thumb  into  the  little  leathern 
bag,  drawing  forth  first  one  broad  piece  and  then 
another,  so  splendid  did  the  stranger's  traffic  with 
the  devil  begin  to  appear  in  the  eyes  of  the  innkeeper, 
that  he  almost  began  to  wish  that  he  had  been 
brought  up  a  sorcerer  also. 

The  stranger  quietly  pushed  the  two  pieces  of 
gold  across  the  table  till  they  got  within  the  inn- 
keeper's sphere  of  attraction,  when  they  become 
suddenly  hurried  towards  him.  with  irresistible  velo- 
city, and  were  plunged  into  the  abyss  of  a  large 
pocket  on  his  left  side,  close  upon  his  heart. 

The  stranger  looked  on  w.th  philosophic  compo- 
sure, as  if  considering  some  natural  phenomenon, 
till  such  time  as  the  operation  was  complete.  '-iXow, 
Gaultier,"  cried  he,  ''  put  on  your  beaver,  and  lead 
to  the  beginning  of  the  grove.  I  will  find  my  way 
through  it  alone.  But  hark  ye,  say  no  word  to  your 
wife." 

G:iultier  was  all  complaisance,  and  having  placed 
his  hat  on  his  head,  he  opened  the  door  of  the 
auberge,  and  brought  forth  the  stranger's  horse, 
fancying  that  what  w^ith  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  two 
pieces  of  gold,  he  could  meet  BeeFzebub  him?;elf,  or 
any  other  of  thoje  gentlemen  of  the  hnver  house, 
with  whom  the  care  used  to  frighten  the  little  boys 
and  girls  when  they  went  to  their  first  communion. 
However,  the  stranger  had  scarcely  passed  the 
horse's  bridle  over  liis  arm,  and  led  him  a  step  or 
two  on  the  way,  when  tiie  cool  air  and  reflection 
made  the  innkeeper  begin  to  think  differently  of 
the  devil,  and  be  more  inclined  to  keep  at  a  respect- 


RICIIELIEUw  16i 

Jul  distance  from  so  grave  and  antique  a  gentleman. 
A  few  steps  more  made  him  ns  frightened  as  everj 
and  before  they  had  got  to  the  end  of  the  village, 
Gaultier  fell  hard  to  work^  crossing  himself  most 
laboriously,  and  trembling  every  time  he  remem- 
bered that  he  was  conducting  one  sorcerer  to  meet 
another,  long  dead  and  delivered  over  in  form,  with 
fire  and  fagot,  into  the  hands  of  Satan. 

It  is  probable  that  he  would  have  run,  but  the 
stranger  was  close  behind,  and  cut  off  his  retreat. 

At  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  little  village 
of  Mesnil,  stood  the  old  Chateau  of  St.  Loup,  sit- 
uated upon  an  abrupt  eminence,  commanding  a  view 
of  almost  all  the  country  round.  The  valley  at  its 
foot,  and  the  slope  of  the  hill  up  to  its  very  walls, 
were  covered  with  thick  wood,  through  which  pas- 
sed the  narrow  deserted  road  from  Mensil,  winding 
in  and  out  with  a  thousand  turns  and  divarications, 
]  and  twice  completely  encircling  the  hill  itself,  be- 
fore it  reached  the  castle  gate,  which  once,  in  the 
hospitable  pride  of  former  days,  had  rested  con- 
stantly open  for  the  reception  equally  of  tiie  friend 
and  the  stranger,  but  vvhich  now  only  gave  entrance 
to  tl:e  winds  and  tempests — rude  guests,  that  con- 
tributed, even  more  than  Time  himself,  the  great 
destroyer,  to  bring  ruin  and  desolation  on  the  de- 
serted mansion.  Hard  by,  in  a  little  cementery, 
attached  to  the  chapel,  lay* many  of  the  gay  hearts 
that  had  once  beat  there,  now  quiet  in  the  still  cold 
i  earth.  There  mouldering  like  the  walls  that  over- 
shadowed them,  were  the  last  sons  of  the  brave  and 
noble  race  of  Mensil,  without  one  scion  left  to 
dwell  in  the  halls  of  their  forefathers,  or  to  grieve 
over  the  desolation  of  their  heritage.  There,  too, 
lay  the  vassals,  bowed  to  the  will  of  a  sterner  lord, 
and  held  in  the  surer  bondage  of  the  tomb-,  and  yet 
perhaps,  in  life,  they  had  passed  on,  happier  than 
their  chief,  without  his  proud  anxiety  and  splendid 
cares;  and  now,  in  death,  his  bed  was  surely  made 
as  low,  and  the  equal  wind  that  whispered  over  the; 

VOL.  I.  11 


J^  RICHELIEtr. 

grave  of  the  one,  offered  no  greater  flattery  to  the 
nioxurnpfv:  s  the  otbter.  But,  beyond  nil  these, 
and  '*::^('ve:.  without  the  precincts  of  conbecrated 
groiiriij  ws.-  a  heap  of  sharJs  and  Hints — the  sorce- 
rer  •  2"ave  Above  it,  some  pious  liand  had  raised 
tr.c  a^iiiuoi  of  salvation — a  deed  of  chnr.ty,  truly,  in 
those  days,  when  eternal  merry  was  formed  by  tiie 
church,  like  a  turnpike  on  the  high  road,  and  none 
couhl  pass  but  such  as  paid  toil.  But,  however, 
there  it  rose,  a  tall  while  cross,  standing,  as  that 
symbol  should  always  stand,  high  above  every  sur- 
rounding object,  and  full  in  the  view  of  all  who 
sought  ir. 

As  the  aubergiste  and  his  companion  climbed  the 
hill,  which,  leading  fr?!m  the  village  of  Mrs  lil,  com- 
manded a  full  prospect  of  the  rich  woody  valley  be- 
low, and  overhung  that  spot  which,  since  the  trage- 
dy ot  poor  Pcre  Le  Rouge,  had  acquired  the  nnme 
of  the  Sorcerer's  Grove,  it  was  this  tall  white  cross 
that  first  caught  their  attention.  It  stood  upon  the 
opposite  eminence,  distinctly  marked  on  the  back- 
grounl  of  the  evening  sky,  catching  every  ray  of 
light  that  remained,  while  behind  it,  pile  upon  pile, 
lay  the  tiiick  clouds  of  a  coming  storm. 

''  There,  monsieur,"  cried  Gaultier,  "there  is  the 
cross  upon  the  sorcerer's  grave  !''  And  the  fear 
whic'n  agitated  him  while  bespoke,  made  the  stran- 
ger s  lip  curl  into  a  smile  of  bitter  contempt.  But 
as  they  turned  the  side  of  the  hill,  which  had  hith- 
C'to  concealed  the  castle  itself  from  their  sight,  the 
teeth  of  Gaultier  actually  chattered  in  his  head, 
when  he  beheld  a  bright  light  shining  from  several 
windows  of  the  deserted  building. 

" 'I'here  !"■  exclaimed  the  stranger,  "there,  you 
see  how  well  Pere  Le  Rouge  keeps  his  appointment, 
I  am  waited  for,  and  want  you  no  farther.  1  can 
now  find  my  way  alone,  I  would  not  p?:pose  you, 
my  friend,  to  the  dangers  of  that  grove."  J 

The  innkeeper's  heart  melted  at  the  strangers' j 
words,  and  he  was  filled  with  compassionate  zeal 
upon  the  occasion.     "  Pray  doa't  go,"  cried  Gaul- 


RICHELI15C  168 

^ler,  almost  blubbering  betwixt  fear  and  tender- 
lietrtedness  ;  "  pray  don't  go  !  Have  pity  upon  your 
precious  soul  !  You'll  go  to  the  devil,  indeed  you 
will  ! — or  at  least  to  purgatory  for  a  hundred  thou- 
sand years,  and  be  burnt  up  like  an  overduiie  rabbit. 
You  are  committing  murder,  and  conspiracy,  and 
treason," — the  stranger  started,  but  Ganitier  went 
on— '-and  heresy, and  pleurisy,  and  sorcery,  and  you 
will  go  to  the  devil,  indeed  you  will — and  tiien  you'll 
remember  what  I  told  you.'' 

"  What  is  fated,  is  fated  !''  replied  the  stranger, 
in  a  solemn  voice,  though  GauUier's  speech  had 
produced  that  sort  of  tremulous  lone,  excited  by 
an  inclination  eitlier  to  laugh  or  to  cry  ."I  have  prom- 
ised, and  I  must  go.  But  let  me  warn  you,''  he 
continued,  sternly, '•  never  to  mention  one  word  of 
what  has  passed  to  night,  if  you  would  live  till  i 
come  again.  For  if  you  reveal  one  word,  even  to 
your  wile,  the  ninth  night  after  you  have  done  so, 
Fere  Le  Rouge  will  stand  on  one  side  of  your  bed, 
and  I  on  ihe  other,  and  Satan  at  your  feet,  and  we 
1  will  carry  you  away  body  and  soul,  so  that  you  shall 
never  be  heard  of  again." 

When  he  had  concluded,  the  stranger  waited  for 
no  reply,  but  sprang  upon  his  horse,  and  galloped 
down  into  the  wood. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  landlord  climbed  to  a  point 
of  the  hill,  from  whence  he  could  see  both  his  own 
village,  and  the  ruins  of  the  castle.  There,  the 
sight  ot  the  church  steeple  gave  him  courage,  and 
he  paused  to  examine  the  extraordinary  light  which 
proceeded  from  the  ruin.  In  a  few  minutes,  he 
saw  several  figures  flit  across  the  windows.and  cast 
a  momentary  obscurity  over  the  red  glare  which 
was  streaming  forth  from  them  upon  the  darkness 
of  the  night.  "  There  they  are  !"  cried  he,  "  Pere 
Le  Rouge,  and  his  pot  companion ! — and  surely  the 
devil  must  be  with  them,  for  1  see  more  than  two, 
and  one  of  them  has  certainly  a  tail — Lord  have 
mercy  upon  us !" 

As  he  spoke,  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning  burst  from 


164  RICHELIEI/* 

the  clouds,  followed  instantly  by  a  Iremenduous 
peal  of  thunder.  The  terrified  innkeeper,  startled 
at  the  sound,  and  more  than  ever  convinced  that 
mans  enemy  was  on  earth,  to(  k  to  his  heels,  nor 
ceased  running  till  he  reached  his  own  door,  and 
met  liis  better  angel  of  a  wife,  who  boxed  his  ears 
for  his  absence,  and  vowed  he  had  been  gallanting- 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


The  motto  of  which  should    he,  "Out  of  the    frjiiig-p ra   into 
the  file." 


The  jingle  of  Claude  de  Blenau's  s-purs,  as  he 
doscende;i  with  a  quick  step  the  staircase  of  the 
Palais  Cardinal,  told  as  plainly  as  a  pair  of  French 
spurs  cfjuld  tell,  that  his  heart  was  lightened  of  a 
heavy  load  since  he  had  last  tried  their  asce:ii  ;  and 
the  spring  of  nis  foot,  as  he  leaped  upon  his  horse, 
spoke  much  of  renewed  hope  and  banished  appre- 
hension. 

But  the  devil  of  it  is  (for  I  must  use  that  homely 
but  happy  expression) — the  devil  of  it  is.  that  the 
rebound  of  hope  raises  us  as  much  above  the  level 
of  truth,  as  tlie  depression  fif  fear  sinks  U3  below 
it;  and  De  Blenau,  striking  his  spurs  into  the  sidea 
of  his  horse,  cantered  olf  towards  St.  Germain  as 
gayly  as  if  all  doubt  and  danger  were  over,  and  be- 
gan to  look  upon  bastilles,  tortures,  and  racks,  with 
all  the  other  et  cetera  of  Richelieu's  government^ 
as  little  better  than  chimeras  of  the  imagination, 
with  which  he  had  nothing  further  to  do, 

Hope  sets  off  at  a  hand-gallop.  Consideration  soo: 
contents  herself  with  a  more  moderate  pace,  am 
Doubt  is  reduced,  at  best,  to  a  slow  trot.     Thus,  afl  t 
De  Blenau  began  to  reflect,  he  unconsciously  i.\Teyf 
in  the  bridle  of  his  horse  ;  and  before   he  had  pro- 


afl 


RICHELIIU.  leS 

ceeded  one  league  on  the  way  to  St.  Germain's,  the 
marks  of  deep  thought  were  evident  both  in  the 
pace  of  the  courser  and  the  countenance  of  the  ri- 
der ;  Do  Blenau,  knitting  his  brow  and  biting  his 
lip,  as  the  variousdangers  that  surrounded  him  cros- 
sed his  mind  5  and  the  gentle  barb,  seemingly  ani- 
mated by  the  same  spirit  as  his  master,  hentiing  his 
arched  neck,  and  liirowing  out  his  feet  with  as  much' 
consideration  as  if  the  tirn>  C/iemin  de  St.  Ger- 
main had  been  no  better  than  a  quagmire. 

Le  Blenau  well  knew  that  even  in  France  n  man 
miglit  smile,  and  smile,  and  he  a  viUain  j  and  that 
the  fiiir  words  of  Richelieu  too  often  preceded  liia 
most  remorseless  actions.  He  remembered  also  the 
warning  of  Mademoiselle  de  Bourborn,  and  felt  too 
strongly  liow  insecure  a  warranty  was  conscious 
innocence  for  his  safety  ;  but  still  he  possessed  that 
sort  of  chivalrous  pride  which  made  him  look  upon 
flight  as  degrading  under  any  circumstance,  and 
more  especially  so  when  the  danger  was  most  ap- 
parent. Like  the  lion,  he  miuht  iiave  slowly  avoi- 
ded the  hunters  while  unatfacked  ;  but  once  pres- 
sed by  ttie  chase,  be  turned  to  resist  or  to  suffer. 
Such  was  the  quality  of  his  mind  ;  and  in  the  pre- 
sent instance  lie  resolved  to  await  his  fate  with 
firmness,  whatsoever  that  fate  might  be. 

1  know  not  whether  an  author,  like  an  Old  Bailey 
witness,  be,  by  the  laws  in  that  case  made  and  pro- 
vided, obliged  to  tell,  on  every  occasion,  not  only 
the  truth,  but  the  whole  truth  :  however,  lest  I 
should  offend  against  any  known  or  unknown  stat- 
ute, be  it  remarked,  that  the  whole  credit  due  to 
the  determinatinn  of  De  Blenau  is  not  to  be  attribu- 
ted to  that  great  and  magnanimous  quality  called 
by  some  persons  nndaimted  resolution,  and  by  oth- 
ers/ooZ-/mrdmess;  for  in  this,  as  in  almost  every 
other  proceeding  of  the  human  heart,  there  were 
two  or  three  little  personal  motives  which  mingled 
with  all  his  ideas,  and,  without  his  knowing  any 
thing  about  it,  brought  his  reasoning  to  the  conclu- 
sioa  aforesaid. 


169  RICnElIEU 

Of  these  little  motives  I  shall  only  pick  oat  one 
as  a  specimen;  but  this  one  in  the  breast  of  a  young^ 
man  of  five-and-twenty,  living  in  a  romantic  age, 
and  blessed  with  a  romantic  disposition,  inav  be 
considered  all-sufficient.  Now  if  it  should  be  luvel — 
As  1  write  this  volanie  entirely  for  ladies^  we  are 
all  agreed" — Love  it  was/  and  who  is  there  that 
will  fM-esume  to  say  Claude  de  Blenau  was  iiot  com- 
pletely justified  in  resolving  to  hazard  all,  ratlier 
than  part  with  Pauline  de  Beaumont  ? 

As  long  as  any  hesitation  had  remained  in  the 
mind  of  De  Blenau,  he  had  proceeded,  as  we  have 
seen,  with  a  slow  unequal  pace  ;  but  the  moment 
his  determination  was  fixed,  his  thoughts  turned  to- 
wards St.  Ciermain's,  and  all  his  ideas  concentrating 
into  one  of  those  day-drean>s  that  every  young 
heart  is  fond  to  indulge,  he  spurred  on  his  horse, 
eager  to  realize  some,  at  least,  of  the  bright  prom- 
ises which  hope  so  liberally  held  forth.  It  was  late, 
however,  before  he  arrived  at  the  end  of  his  jour- 
ney J  and  internally  cursing  the  etiquette  which 
required  him  to  change  his  dress  before  he  could 
present  himself  at  the  palace,  he  sent  forward  liis 
page  to  announce  his  return,  and  beg. an  audience 
of  the  queen. 

His  toilet  was  not  long;  and  without  waiting  for 
the  boy  s  return,  he  set  out  on  foot,  hoping  to  join 
the  queen's  circle  before  it  separated  for  the  eve- 
ning. In  this  he  was  disappointed.  Anne  of  Aus 
tria  was  alone  ;  and  though  her  eyes  sparkled  with 
gladness  for  his  unexpected  return,  and  her  recep- 
tion was  as  kind  as  his  good  services  required,  De 
Blenau  would  have  been  better  pleased  to  have 
been  welcomed  by  other  lips. 

"  I  could  scarce  credit  the  news  till  I  siw  you, 
mon  diambellan,'  said  the  queen,  extending  her  hand 
for  him  to  kiss  ;  "  nor  can  I  truly  believe  that  it  is 
you  that  I  behold  even  now.  How  have  you  esca- 
.oaped  from  that  dreadful  man  1" 

"■  I  will  tell  your  majesty  all  that  has  happened," 
replied  the  count  j  "and  as  I  have  a  boon  to  asfe^  I 


RIOUELIE*.  167 

think  I  must  represent  my  sufferings  in  your  majes- 
ty's cause  in  the  most  tremendous  colors.  But 
ivitliout  a  jest,  I  have  ha.d  little  to  undergo  beyond 
1  force!  attendance  at  the  cardinal's  fSte,  where 
tlie  only  hard  word  I  received  was  from  L'Angeli, 
tlie  Duke  of  Enghien's  fool,  who  seeing  mv  riding- 
dr.  s8,  asked  if  i  were  Puss  in  boots."  De  Blenau 
then  shortly  related  all  tliat  had  occurred  during 
his  stay  in  Paris.  "And  thus,  madam,"  he  added, 
'  yt<u  see  tliat  Chavisni  has  kept  his  word  ;  for  had 
it  not  been  for  that  promise,  t  d"uht  not  1  sh«'uld 
have  been  even  now  comfortably  lod;.'ed  in  the  Bas- 
tille, with  a  table  at  his  majesty's  expense." 

The  queen  mused  for  a  moment  without  making 
any  reply)  hut  from  her  countenance  it  seemed 
that  she  was  not  a  little  troubled  by  what  she  had 
heard. 

''De  Blenau.^' said  she  at  length,  in  a  calm  hut 
melancholy  voice.  ''  there  is  ^omething  concealed 
here.  The  car-dinal  has  deeper  plans  in  view.  As 
Marie  de  Bourbon  told  you.  tiiey  are  plotting  my 
ruin.  When  first  I  entered  Frajice,  that  man  of 
blood  and  treachery  resolved  to  make  me  his  slave. 
He  fl  ittered  my  tastes,  he  prevenied  my  wisl^es — 
like  an  insidious  serpent  he  wound  himself  into  my 
confidence;  and  1  was  weak  enouTlj  to  dream  that 
my  husband's  minister  was  my  best  friend.  With 
as  much  vanity  as  insolence,  he  mistook  condescen- 
sion for  love.  He  sought  his  opportunity,  and  dared 
to  insult  my  ears  with  his  wishes,  I  need  not  tell 
you  De  Blenau,  what  was  my  reply  j  but  it  was 
8uch  as  stung  him  to  the  soul.  He  rose  from  where 
he  had  been  kneelinL"-  at  my  feet,  and  threatened 
such  vengeance  that,  as  he  said,  my  whole  life 
should  be  one  long  success'o  i  of  miseries.  Too  truly 
has  he  kept  his  word." — ^The  queen  paused  and  as 
was  ofcen  her  custom  when  anv  circums',  r.ie  cal- 
led her  memory  back  to  the  bitter  evrr  <  f  her 
past  life,  fell  into  a  deep  revery,  from  wriicn  it  was 
not  easy  to  rouse  her. 

"  Too  much  of  this,"  said  she  «t  length  j  "wo 


161  RrCHELIEir, 

must  look  to  the  present,  De  Blenau.  As  the 
mother  of  two  princes,  Richelieu  both  hales  and 
fears  me  j  and  I  see  they  are  plotting  my  ruin.  But 
yours  shall  not  be  involved  therein.  De  Blenau, 
you  must  fly  till  this  storm  has  passed  by." 

'•'  Pardon  me,  madam,"  replied  the  count,  ''but  in 
this  1  cannot  vield  your  majesty  that  obedience  I 
would  wiilingly  show  under  any  other  circumstan- 
ces. I  cannot,  I  must  not,  fly.  My  own  honor, 
madam,  requires  that  I  shonld  stay  ;  for  if  flight  be 
not  construed  into  an  evidence  of  guilt,  it  may  at 
least  be  supposed  a  sign  of  cowardice." 

"  Indeed,  indeed  !  De  Blenau,"  said  the  queen, 
earnestly, '^  you  must  do  as  1  require  3  nay,"  fhe 
added  with  a  mixture  of  sweetness  and  dignity,  "as 
I  command.  If  they  can  prove  against  yru  that 
you  have  forwarded  letters  from  me  to  my  brother 
the  king  of  Spain,  they  will  bring  you  to  the  block, 
and  will  most  likely  ruin  me." 

'•  I  trust  to  the  promise  your  majesty  gave  me 
•when  hrst  I  undertook  to  have  those  letters  con- 
veyed to  your  royal  bRolher  King  Philip,"  answer- 
ed De  Blenau  :  "you  then  pledged  to  me  your  word 
that  they  were  alone  of  a  domestic  nature,  and  that 
they  should  always  continue  so,  withoutever  touch- 
ing upon  one  subject  of  external  or  internal  policy, 
so  that  my  allegiance  to  my  king  and  my  duty  to 
my  country  shguld  alike  remain  pure  and  inviol.?te. 
I'doubt  not  that  your  majesty  has  pointedly  kept 
this  promise  5  and  De  Blenau  will  never  fly  while 
he  can  lay  bis  hand  upon  his  heart  and  feel  himself 
innocent." 

"  Yes,  but  remember,  my  good  youth,"  replied 
the  queen,  "  that  this  cardinal — my  husband's  tyrant 
rather  than  his  subject — has  commanded  me,  his 
queen,  to  forbear  all  correspondence  with  my  broth- 
er, and  has  narrowly  watched  me  to  prevent  that 
very  communication  between  Philip  and  myself 
which  your  kindness  has  found  means  to  procure. 
Remember^  too^  his  remorseless  nature  3  and  then 


RICHELiKtJ.  169 

judge  whether  he  will  spare  the  man  who  has  ren- 
dered his  precautions  vain." 

"Madam,-"' replied  De  Blenau,  "I  do  not  fear; 
nothing  shall  make  me  fly.  Though  there  he  no 
bounds  to  what  the  cardinal  dare  atfenij^t,  yet  his 
power  does  not  extend  to  make  me  a  coward  !" 

"  But  for  my  sake,"  still  persevered  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria, laboring  to  persuade  him  to  a  measure  on 
which  she  too  well  knew  his  safety  depended :  '•'re- 
member that  if  there  be  proved  against  me  even  so 
small  a  crime  as  having  sent  those  letters,  my  ruin 
is  inevitable,  and  there  are  modes  of  torture  which 
will  wrench  a  secret  from  the  most  determined  con- 
stancy." 

"  I  fear  me,"  replied  De  Blenau,  "  that  some  act 
of  mine  must  have  much  degraded  me  in  your  ma 
jesty's  opinion." 

"  No,  no,  my  friend  .'"  said  the  queen  ;  ''  not  so 
indeed — I  do  not  doubt  you  in  the  least :  but  I 
would  fain  persuade  you,  De  Blenau,  to  that  which 
I  know  is  best  and  safest." 

"  Your  majesty  has  now  given  me  the  strongest 
reasons  for  my  stay,"  replied  De  Bleuau,  with  a 
smile  ;  ''  I  have  now  the  means  of  proving  my  fidel- 
ity to  you.  and  nothing  shall  tempt  me  to  leave  you 
at  this  moment.  But  in  the  mean  time  there  is  one 
favour  I  have  to  request." 

"  Name  it,"  replied  the  queen  j  ''  indeed,  De 
Blenau,  you  might  command  it." 

"  Your  majesty  is  too  good,"  said  the  count.  "  I 
will  make  my  story  as  brief  as  possible  ;  but  I  must 
explain  to  you  that  Mademosiselle  de  Beaumont 
and  myself  were  plighted  to  each  other  when  very 
young—" 

"  1  know  it,  I  know  it  all,"  interrupted^fie  queen, 
"and  that  you  love  each  other  still ;  and  believe 
me,  my  dear  De  Blenau,  neither  time  nor  disap- 
pointment has  so  frozen  my  heart  that  I  cannot  en- 
ter warmly  into  all  you  feel.  Perhaps  you  never 
discovered  that  Anne  of  Austria  was  an  enthusiast. 
But  tell  me;What  difficulty  has  occurred  betweenyou? 


170  RICHELIED. 

"  Why,  in  truth,  madam,"  answered  De  Blenau, 
*''  the  difficulty  arises  with  your  majesty." 

"  With  me  I'  cried  the  queen  :  -'with  me,  De  Ble- 
nau !  impossible  !  ]N"oihii)g  could  jrive  me  more 
pleisure  than  to  see  your  union.  This  Pauline  of 
yours  is  one  of  the  sweetest  girls  that  ever  I  heheldj 
and  vith  all  her  native  unboustht  graces,  siie  looks 
among  the  rest  of  the  court  like  a  wild  rose  in  a 
flo\\e--garden — rot  so  cultivated,  in  truth,  but  more 
simply  elegant,  and  sweeter  than  them  all.'' 

Tliose  who  say  that  all  is  selfishness,  let  them 
tell  me  iiow  it  is  that  one  sintple  word  in  praise  ot 
those  we  love  will  give  a  thousand  limes  more  plea- 
sure than  the  warmest  cominnndation  of  ourselves. 

De  Blenau's  heart  beat,  and  his  eye  sparkled,  and 
he  paused  a  moment  ere  he  could  reply  5  nor  in- 
deed were  his  first  sentences  very  distinct.  He 
said  a  gr»?at  deal  about  her  majesty's  goodness,— 
and  his  own  happiness. — and  P;iuline's  excellence; 
all  in  that  sort  of  coiifusod  way,  which  would  make 
it  appear  simple  nonsense  were  it  written  down  ; 
but  which  very  clearly  ctmveyed  to  the  queen  how 
much  he  loved  Pauline,  and  how  much  obliged  he 
was  to  her  majesty  for  praising  her. 

Aiter  this,  he  entered  rather  more  regularlv  into 
a  detail  of  those  circumstances  which  had  induced 
Mademoiselle  de  Beaumont  to  suspect  him.  "The 
point  which  seems  to  affect  her  most,"  continued 
De  Blenau,  "is  the  visit  with  which  Mademoiselle 
de  Hauteford  honored  me  by  your  majesty's  com- 
mand, in  order  to  receive  from  me  the  last  letter 
from  your  majesty  to  the  King  of  Spain,  which  ( 
was  unhappily  prevented  from  forwarding  by  my 
late  wounds.  JNow  this,  as  affecting  the  character 
of  the  lady  your  majesty  employed  in  the  business, 
does  certainly  require  some  explanation.  In  regard 
to  every  thing  else.  Pauline  will,  I  feel  sure,  con- 
eider  my  word  sufficient." 

"  Oh,  leave  it  all  to  me,  leave  it  all  to  me  I"  ex- 
claimed the  queen,  laughing.    "  What !  jealous  al- 


RIOHELIEO  171 

ready  is  the,  fair  maid  ?  But  fear  not,  De  Blenau, 
Did  she  know  you  aa  well  as  I  do,  she  would  doubt 
herseli  sooner  than  De  Blenau.  However,  1  un- 
dertake to  rol)  the  rose  of  its  thorn  for  you,  and 
leave  love  without  jealousy.  A  woman  is  very  ea- 
sily convinced  where  she  loves,  and  it  will  be  hard 
if  I  cannot  show  her  that  she  has  been  in  the  wrong. 
But  take  no  unworthy  advantage  of  it,  De  Bienau," 
she  continued  5  "for  a  woman's  heart  will  not  hesi- 
tate at  triHes,  when  she  wishes  to  make  reparation 
to  a  man  she  loves." 

"  All  tiie  advantage  I  could  ever  wish  to  take," 
replied  the  count,  "  would  be,  to  claim  her  hand 
without  delay." 

••'  Nay,  nav — that  is  but  a  fair  advantage,"  said  the 
queen.  "Yet,"  continued  she,  after  a  monient's 
pause,  "  it  were  not  wise  to  draw  the  eyes  of  suspi- 
cion upon  us  at  this  moment.  But  there  are  such 
thinas  as  private  marriages,  De  Bienau." 

There  was  no  small  spice  «)f  romance.in  the  char- 
acter of  Anne  of  Austria,  and  this,  on  niore  tlian 
one  occasion,  led  her  into  various  circumstancps  of 
danger,  affecting  both  herself  and  the  state.  Of  an 
easy  and  generous  spirit,  she  always  became  the 
partisan  of  the  oppressed,  and  any  thing  that  inter- 
ested or  excited  her  feelings,  was  certain  to  meet 
encourajement  and  support,  however  cliimerical  or 
hazardous  ;  while  plans  of  more  judgment  and  pro- 
priety were  either  totally  discountenanced,  or  im- 
properly pursued.  This  appeared  through  her  whole 
life,  but  more  especially  at  an  after  period,  when  the 
government  fell  i\>to  her  own  hands,  and  when,  like 
a  child  with  some  fine  and  complicated  machine, 
she  played  with  the  engine  of  the  state  till  she  de- 
ranged all  its  functions. 

It  was.  perhaps,  this  spirit  of  romance,  more  than 
any  political  consideration,  which,  in  the  present 
instance,  made  her  suggest  to  the  Count  de  Blenau 
the  idea  of  a  private  marriage  with  Pauline  de  Beau- 
mont; and  he,  as  ardent  as  herself,  and  probably  as 
romantic^  caught  eargerly  at  a  proposal  which  seem* 


172  RICHEtlEtt 

ed  to  promise  a  more  speedy  union  with  the  object 
of  his  love,  than  was  compatible  with  ail  the  tedi- 
ous ceremonies  and  wearisome  etiquette  attendant 
upon  a  court-marringe  of  that  day. 

"  I  shall  not  see  your  Pauline  to-ni'.iht,-"'said  the 
queen,  continuiiicr  the  conversation  which  this  pro- 
posal had  induced.  '•'  She  excused  herself  attend- 
ing my  evening  circle,  on  account  of  a  slight  indis- 
position ;  hut  to  morrow  I  will  explain  every  thing 
on  your  part,  and  propose  to  her  myself  what  we 
have  agreed  upon.'' 

••  She  is  not  ill.  !  trust  ?"'  said  De  Blenau. 

'•  Oh  no  !'-■  replied  the  queen,  emding  at  the  anxi- 
ety of  his  look,  "  not  enough  even  to  alarm  a  lover, 
1  believe.  ' 

I'his  answer,  however,  was  not  sufficient  for  De 
Blenau.  and  taking  leave  of  the  queen,  he  sent  for 
one  of  Madame  de  Beaumont's  servants,  through 
whose  intervention  he  contrived  to  obtain  an  audi- 
ence of  no  less  a  person  than  Louise,  Pauline's 
stcivante.  Isow  Louise  was  really  a  pretty  woman, 
and  doubtless  her  face  might  have  claimed  remem- 
brance from  many  a  man  who  had  nothing  else  to 
think  of  De  Blenau  remembered  it  too,  but  with- 
out any  reference  to  its  beauty,  which,  indeed,  he 
had  i.ever  staid  to  inquire  into. 

It  must  be  remembered,  that  the  morning  previous 
to  his  journey  to  Paris,  the  moment  before  he  was 
joined  bv  Cliavigni,  his  eye  had  been  attracted  by 
that  nobleman,  engaged  in  the  earnest  conversation 
with  a  girl  habited  In  the  dress  of  dear  Languedoc  ; 
and  he  now  found  in  the  scniin-ette  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Beaumont,  the  very  individual  he  had  seen  in 
such  circumstances.  All  this  did  not  very  much 
enhance  the  regard  of  De  Blenau  towards  Louise  j 
and  he  satisfied  himself  with  a  simple  inquiry  con- 
cerning her  mistress's  health,  adding  a  slight  recom- 
mendation to  herself,  to  take  care  wlrom  she  gossip- 
ped  w  ith  while  she  remained  at  St.  Germain,  con- 
veyed in  that  stately  manner,  which  made  Louise 
resolve  to  hate  him  most  cordially  for  the  rest  of 


I 


niCIiELlETJ.  173 

her  life,  and  declare  tint  he  was  not  half  so  nice  a 
gentleman  as  Monsieur  de  Chavigni,  who  was  a 
counsellor  into  the  bargain. 

After  a  variety  of  confused  dreams,  concerning 
queens  and  cardiii;ils,  bastilles  and  private  marriages, 
De  Blenau  woke  to  enjoy  one  of  those  bright  morn- 
ings which  often  shine  out  in  the  first  of  autumn, — 
memorials  of  summer,  when  summer  itself  is  gone. 
It  was  too  early  to  present  himself  at  the  palace; 
but  he  had  now  a  theme  on  which  his  thoughts  were 
not  unwilling  to  dwell,  and  therefore,  as  soon  as  he 
was  dressed,  he  sauntered  out,  most  lover-like,  into 
the  park,  occupied  with  the  hope  of  future  happi- 
ness, and  scarcely  sensible  of  any  external  thing, 
save  the  soothing  influence  of  the  morning  air,  and 
the  cheerful  hum  of  awakening  nature. 

As  time  wore  on,  however, — and,  probably,  did  so 
faster  than  he  fancied, — his  attention  was  called  to- 
wards the  palace  by  an  unusual  degree  of  bustle  and 
activity  among  the  attendants,  who  were  now  seen 
passing  to  and  fro  along  the  terrace,  with  all  the 
busy  haste  of  a  nest  of  emmets  disturbed  in  their 
unceasing  industry. 

His  curiosity  being  excited,  he  quitted  the  princi- 
pal alley  in  which  he  had  been  walking,  and  ascend- 
ing the  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  terrace,  enter- 
ed the  palace  by  the  small  door  of  the  left  wing. 
As  none  of  the  servants  immediately  presented 
themselves,  he  proceeded  by  one  of  the  staircases 
to  the  principal  saloon,  where  he  expected  to  meet 
some  of  the  valets  de  chamhre,  who  generally  at  that 
hour  awaited  the  rising  of  the  queen. 

On  opening  the  door,  however,  he  was  surprised 
to  find  Anne  of  Austria  already  risen,  together  with 
the  dauphin  and  the  young  Duke  of  Anjou,  the 
principal  ladies  of  the  court,  and  several  menial  at- 
tendants, all  habited  in  (ravelling  costume;  while 
various  trunk-mails,  saddle-bags,  portmanteaus,  &c., 
lay  about  the  room  ;  some  already  stuffed  to  the 
gorge  with  their  appropriate  contents,  and  others 
opening  their  wide  jaws  to  receive  whatever  their 
owners  chose  to  cranj  them  withal. 


174  RICHELIEU. 

As  soon  as  De  Blenau  entered  this  scene  ofun- 
princely  confusion,  the  quick  eyes  of  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria lighted  upon  him,  and,  advancing  from  the 
group  of  ladies  to  whom  she  had  been  speaking, 
s'f.e  seemed  surprised  to  see  him  in  the  simple 
morning  costume  of  the  court. 

"  Why,  be  Blenau  I'"  exclaimed  she,  "  we  vvait 
for  you,  and  you  have  neither  boots  nor  cloak.  Have 
you  not  seen  ihe  pnge  I  sent  to  you  ?' 

'•  ,\o,  indeed,  madam,"  replied  De  Blenau  ;  "  but 
having  loitered  in  the  park  some  time,  1  have  proba- 
bly thus  missed  receiving  jour  comm:inds." 

••  Then  you  have  not  heard,"  said  the  queen,  "  we 
have  been  honoured  this  morning  by  a  summons  to 
join  the  king  atCiiant;ily." 

'•  Indeed  1"  rejoined  De  Blenau,  thoughtfully, 
'•  What  should  this  mean,  1  wonder  ?  It  is  strange  ! 
Riclielieu  was  to  be  there  last  night  :  so  1  heard  it 
rumored  yesterday  in  Paris."' 

••  I  fear  me,'' answered  the  queen,  in  a  low  tone, 
'•  that  the  storm  is  about  to  burst  upon  our  head.  A 
servant  inforins  me,  that  riding  this  morning,  short- 
ly after  sunrise,  near  that  small  open  space  which 
separates  this,  the  forest  of  Laye,  from  the  great 
wood  of  Mantes,  lie  saw  a  large  party  of  the  cardi- 
nal's guard  wiiiding  along  towards  the  wooden 
bridge,  at  which  we  usually  cross  the  river." 

••  Oh,  I  think  nothing  of  that,"  replied  the  count. 
"Your  majesty  must  remember,  that  this  cardinal 
has  his  men  scattered  all  over  the  country  : — but.  at 
all  events,  we  can  take  the  slone  bridge  fiirther 
down.  At  what  time  does  your  mnjesty  depart  ? 
I  will  but  pay  my  compliments  to  these  ladies,  and 
then  go  to  command  the  attendance  of  my  train, 
which  will  at  all  events  aftbrd  some  sort  of  escort." 

During  this  dialogue,  the  queen  had  looked  from 
time  to  time  towards  the  group  of  ladies  who  re- 
mained in  conversation  at  the  other  end  of  the  apart- 
ment ;  and  with  that  unsteadiness  of  thought  pecu- 
liar to  her  character,  she  soon  forgot  all  her  fears 
and  aniietiea,  as  she  saw  the  dark  eye  of  Paulino 


RICHELIEU  176 

de  Beaumont  wander  every  now  and  then  with  a 
furtive  glance  towards  De  Blenau,  and  then  sud- 
denly fall  to  the  ground,  or  tix  upon  vacancy,  as  if 
afraid  of  being  cauglit  in  such  employment. 

Easily  reading  every  line  expressive  of  a  passion 
to  which  siie  had  once  been  so  susceptible,  tl.e 
queen  turned  with  a  playful  smile  to  De  Blenau. 
'•  Come,"  said  she,  "  1  will  save  you  the  trouble 
of  pa\ing  your  compliments  to  more  than  one  of 
those  lailies,  and  she  shall  stand  your  proxy  to 
all  tlie  rest.  Pauline — Mademoiselle  de  Beau- 
mont,'' she  continued,  raising  her  voice,  •'  come 
hitlior,  flower !     1  would  speak  a  word  with  you." 

Pauline  came  forward — not  unhappy  in  iruih, 
but  witii  tilo  blood  rushing  up  into  her  cheeks 
and  forehead  till  timidity  became  actunl  pain, 
'wliile  the  clear  cold  Idue  eyes  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Hauteford  followed  her  across  the  room,  as  if 
she  wondered  at  feelings  she  herself  had  appa- 
rently never  experienced. 

De  Blenau  advanced  and  lield  out  his  hand. 
Pauline  instantly  placed  hers  in  it,  and  in  the 
confusion  of  the  moment  laid  the  other  upon  it 
also. 

'"Well,"  said  the  queen  with  a  smile,  "  De 
Blenau.  you  must  be  satisfied  now.  Tsay,  be  not 
asli;;med,  Pauline  ;  it  is  ail  right  and  pure,  and 
natural," 

'•  I  am  not  ashamed,  madam,"  replied  Pauline, 
sceniag  to  gain  courage  from  the  tbuch  of  her 
Jover;  '•' J  have  done  De  Blenau  wrong  in  ever 
doubling  one  so  good  and  so  noble  as  he  is  ;  but 
he  will  forgive  me  now,  I  know,  and  I  will  never 
do  him  wrong  again." 

1  need  not  proceed  farther  with  all  this.  De 
Blenau  and  Pauline  enjoyed  one  or  two  moments 
of  unminded  happiness,  and  then  the  queen  re- 
minded them  that  he  had  yet  to  dress  lor  his 
journey,  and  to  prepare  his  servants  to  accompa- 
ny the  carriages.    This,  however,  was  soon  done, 


176  HlCHELItU. 

and  in  less  thnn  half  an  hour  De  Blenau  rejoin- 
ed the  party  in  the  saloon  of  the  palace. 

'•JS"ow,  De  Blenau,"  said  the  queen,  as  soon  as 
she  saw  him,  "you  are  prepared  for  travelling  at 
all  points.  For  once  be  ruled,  and  instead  of 
accompanying  me  to  Chantilly,  malce  the  best  of 
your  way  to  Tranche  Conite  or  to  Flanders,  for  I 
much  fear  that  the  cardinal  has  not  yet  done  with 
you.  I  will  take  care  of  your  interests  while 
you  are  gone,  even  belter  than  I  would  my  own  } 
and  1  promise  you  that  as  soon  as  you  are  in 
safety,  Madame  De  Beaumont  and  Pauline  shall 
follow  you,  and  you  may  be  happy  surely,  though 
abroad,  for  a  few  short  years,  till  Richelieu's 
power  or  his  life  be  passed  away." 

De  Blenau  smiled.  •'  INay,  nay,"  replied  he, 
"  that  would  not  be  like  a  gallant  knight  and 
true,  either  to  desert  my  queen  or  my  lady  love. 
Besides,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  this  jour- 
ney to  Chantilly  bodes  us  good  rather  than  harm. 
For  near  three  months  past,  the  king  has  been 
there  almost  alone  with  Cinq  Mars,  who  is  as 
noble  a  heart  as  e'er  the  world  produced,  and  is 
well  affec'ed  towards  your  majesty.  So  I  am 
looking  forward  to  brighter  days," 

"Well,  we  shall  see,"  said  the  queen,  with  a 
doubtful  shake  of  the  head.  "You  are  young, 
De  Bleneau,  and  full  of  hopes — all  that  has  pass- 
ed away  with  me.  jNTow  let  us  go.  I  have  or- 
dered the  carriages  to  wait  at  the  end  of  the 
terrace,  and  we  will  walk  thither  : — perhaps  it 
may  be  the  last  time  £  shall  eter  see  my  favour- 
ite walk ;  for  who  knows  if  any  of  us  will  ever 
return  ?"' 

With  these  melancholy  anticipations,  the  queen 
took  the  arm  of  Madame  de  Beaumont^nd,  fol- 
lowed by  the  rest,  led  the  way  to  the  terrace, 
from  which  was  to  be  seen  the  vast  and  beauti- 
ful view  extending  from  St.  Germain's  over  Paris 
to  the    country    beyond,    Uking  ia  all   the  wind- 


RICHELIEU  177 

ings  of  the  river  Seine,  with  the  rich  woods 
through  which  it  flowed. 

The  light  mists  of  an  autumnal  morning  still 
hung  about  the  various  dells  and  slopes,  soften- 
ing, but  not  obscuring  the  landscape  ;  and  every 
now  and  then  the  sunbeams  would  catch  upon  a 
tower  or  a  spire  in  the  distant  landscape,  and 
create  a  glittering  spot  amid  the  dark  brown 
woods  round  about. 

It  is  ever  a  bright  scene,  that  view  from  St. 
Germain,  and  many  have  been  the  royal,  and  the 
fair,  and  the  noble,  whose  feet  have  trod  the 
terrace  of  Henry  the  Fourth  j  but  seldom,  full 
seldom,  has  there  been  there  a  group  of  greater 
loveliness  or  honor  than  that  which  then  follow- 
ed Anne  of  Austria  from  the  palace.  The  melan- 
choly which  hung  over  the  whole  party  took  from 
them  any  wish  for  farther  conversation  than  a 
casual  comment  upon  the  beauties  of  the  view; 
and  thus  they  walked  on  nearly  in  silence,  till 
j  they  had  approached  within  a  few  hundred  yards 
I  of  the  extremity,  where  they  were  awaited  by 
the  carriages  prepared  for  the  queen  and  her  la- 
dies, together  with  the  attendants  of  De  Ble- 
nau. 

At  that  moment  the  quick  clanging  step  of 
armed  men  was  heard  following,  and  all  with 
one  impulse  turned  to  see  who  it  was  that  thus 
seemed  to  pursue  them. 

The  party  whiclj  had  excited  their  attention, 
consisted  of  a  soldier-like  old  man,  who  seemed 
to  have  ridden  hard,  and  half  a  dozen  chasseurs 
of  the  guard,  who  followed  him  at  about  ten  or 
twelve  paces  distance. 

"  It  is  the  Count  de  Thiery,'*  said  De  Blenau  ; 
"  1  know  him  \vell :  as  good  an  old  soldier  as 
ever  lived." 

Notwithstanding  De  Blenau's  commendation, 
Anne  of  Austria  appeared  little  satisfied  with  the 
count's    approach,  and  continued   walkinj  on  to- 

VOL."   1.  12 


17S  ^RICHELIt.^. 

wards  the  carriages  with  a  degree  of  anxiety  in 
her  eye,  which  speedily  communicated  feelings 
of  the  same  kind  to  her  attendants.  Pauline,  un- 
acquainted with  the  intrigues  and  anxieties  of  the 
court,  saw  from  the  countenances  of  all  around 
that  something  was  to  be  apprehended  5  and  mag- 
nifying the  danger  from  uncertainty  in  regard  to 
its  nature,  she  instinctively  crept  close  to  De 
Blenau,  as  certain  of  finding  protection  there. 

Judging  at  once  the  cause  of  De  Thiery's  com- 
ing, De  Blenau  drew  the  arm  of  Pauline  through 
his,  and  lingered  a  step  behind,  while  the  rest  of 
the  party  proceeded. 

"  Dear  Pauline  V  said  he,  in  a  low  but  firm  tone 
of  voice,  *•  my  own  Pauline  !  prepare  yourself  for 
what  is  coming !  1  think  you  will  find  that  this 
concerns  me.  If,  so.  farewell  !  and  remember, 
whatever  be  my  fate,  that  De  Blenau  has  loved  you 
ever  faithfully,  and  will  love  you  till  his  last  hour — 
beyond  that — God  only  knows  !  but  if  ever  human 
affection  passed  beyond  tlie  tomb,  my  love  for  you 
will  endure  in  another  state.'' 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  steps,  at  the 
bottom  of  wliich  the  carrijszes  were  in  wailing,  and 
at  the  same  moment  tiie  long  sirides  of  the  Count 
de  Thiery  had  brought  him  to  thn  same  spot. 

••■  Well,  Monsieur  de  T.'iiery  !"  said  Anne  of  Au- 
stria, turning  sharp  round,  and  speaking  in  that 
shrill  tone  which  her  voice  assumed  whenever  she 
was  agitated  either  by  fear  or  anger  j  your  haste  im- 
plies bad  news.    Does  your  busFness  lie  with  me  ?"' 

•■■  rso,  so  please  your  majesty,"  replied  the  old 
soldier  -,  "  no  farther  than  to  wish  you  a  fair  jour- 
ney to  Chantilly,  and  to  have  the  pleasure  of  s?eing 
your  majesty  to  your  carriage.*' 

The  queen  paused,  and  regarded  the  old  man  for 
a  moment  with  a  steady  e\e.  wiiile  lie  looked  down 
upon  the  ground  and  played  with  the  point  of  his 
gray  beard,  in  no  very  graceful  embarrassment. 

"  Very  wellJ  replied  she  at  length  j  "  you,  Mon- 
sifiur  de  Thiery.  shall  hand  me  to  my  carriace-     J^o, 


mCHELIlf.  179 

De  Blenau,  I  shall  not  need  your  attendauce. 
Mount  your  horse  and  ride  on." 

"  Pardon  me,  your  majesty/'  said  De  Thiery, 
stepping  forward  with  an  air  of  melancholy  gravity, 
but  from  whichall  embarrassment  was  now  banish- 
ed. "  Monsieur  de  Blenau, "'  he  continued,  "  1  have 
a  most  unpleasant  task  to  accomplish:  Lam  sorry 
to  say  you  must  give  me  up  your  sword  ;  but  be  as- 
Burjcd  that  you  render  it  to  a  man  o[  honor,  who  will 
keep  it  as  a  precious  and  invaluable  charge,  till  he 
can  give  it  back  to  that  hand,  which  he  is  convinc- 
ed will  always  use  it  nobly." 

"  I  foresaw  it  plainly  !"  cried  the  queen,  and 
turned  away  her  head.  Pauline  clasped  her  hands 
and  burst  into  tears  :  but  among  the  attendants  of 
De  Blenau,  who  during  this  conversation  had  one  by 
one  mounted  the  steps  of  the  terrace,  there  was 
first  a  whisper,  then  a  loud  murmur,  then  a  shout  of 
indignation,  and  in  a  moment  a  dozen  swords  were 
gleaming  in  the  sunshine. 

Old  De  Thiery  laid  his  hand  upon  his  weapon, 
but  De  Blenau  stopped  him  in  his  purpose. 

"Silence!"  cried  he  in  a  voice  of  thunder; 
"  Traitors,  put  up  your  swords  1  My  good  friends," 
added  he,  in  a  gentler  tone,  as  he  saw  him.self  obey- 
ed, "  those  swords  which  have  before  so  well  de- 
fended their  master,  must  never  be  drawn  in  a 
cause  that  De  Blenau  could  blush  to  own.  Mon- 
sieur le  Compte  de  Thiery,''  he  continued,  unbuck- 
ling his  weapon,  •' I  thank  you  for  the  handsome 
manner  in  which  you  have  performed  a  disagreeable 
duty.  1  do  not  ask  to  see  the  lettre  de  catchet, 
which,  of  course,  you  hear;  for  in  giving  you  the 
sword  of  an  honorable  man,  I  know  1  could  not 
place  it  in  better  hands  ;  and  now,  having  done  so, 
allow  me  to  lead  her  majesty  to  her  carriage,  and  I 
will  then  follow  you  whithersoever  you  may  have 
commands  to  bear  me." 

"  Most  certainly,"  replied  De  Thiery,  receiving 
his  sword ;  "  I  wait  your  own  time,  and  will  remain 
here  till  you  are  at  leisure." 


t$6  RICHELIEtf. 

De  Blenau  led  the  queen  to  the  carriage  in  si- 
lence, and  having  handed  her  in,  he  kissed  the 
hand  she  extended  to  him,  begging  her  to  rely  up- 
on his  honor  and  firmness.  He  next  gave  his  hand 
to  Pauline  de  Beaumont,  down  whose  cheeks  the 
tears  were  streaming  unrestrained.  '•  Farewell, 
dear  Pauline!  farewell  1' he  said.  Her  sobs  pre- 
vented her  answer,  but  her  hand  clasped  upon  hia 
with  a  fond  and  lingering  pressure,  which  spoke 
more  to  his  heart  than  the  most  eloquent  adieu. 

Madame  de  Beaumont  came  next,  and  embraced 
him  warmly.  "  God  protect  you,  my  son  !"  said 
she,  "  for  your  heart  is  a  noble  one." 

Mademoiselle  de  Hanteford  followed,  greeting 
De  Blenau  with  a  calm  cold  smile  and  a  graceful 
bow  ;  and  the  rest  of  the  royal  sui'.e  having  placed 
themselves  in  other  carriages,  the  cavalcade  mov- 
ed on.  De  Blenau  stood  till  they  were  gone.  Rais- 
ing his  hat,  he  bowed  with  an  air  of  unshaken  digni- 
ty, as  the  queen  passed,  and  then  turning  to  the 
terrace,  he  took  the  arm  of  the  Count  de  gThiery, 
and  returned  a  prisoner  to  the  palace. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Which  gives  an  example  of  "  The  way  ^to  keep  him." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  De  Blenau,  smiling  with  feel- 
ings mingled  with  melancholy  resignation  to  his 
fate  and  proud  disdain  for  his  enemies,  "  imprison- 
meiit  is  too  common  a  lot,  now-a-days,  to  be  matter 
of  surprise,  even  where  it  falls  on  the  most  inno- 
cent. Our  poor  country,  France,  seems  to  have  be- 
come one  great  labyrinth,  with   the  Bastille  in  the 


RICHELIEU.  181 

centre,  and  all  the  roads  terminating  there.     I  sup- 
pose that  such  is  my  destination." 

'^  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  is,"  replied  his  companion. 
''  My  orders  are  to  carry  you  thither  direct ;  but  I 
hope  that  your  sojourn  will  not  be  long  within  its 
walls.  Without  doubt  you  will  soon  be  able  to 
clear  yourself." 

"  I  must  first  know  of  what  I  am  accused,"  re- 
plied the  count.  "  if  they  cry  in  my  case,  as  in 
that  of  poor  Clement  Marot,  Prenez  le,  il  a  mangi 
ie  lard,  1  shall  certainly  plead  guilty;  but  I  know  of 
no  state  crime  which  I  have  committed,  except 
eating  meat  on  a  Friday. — It  is  as  well,  perhaps, 
Monsieur  de  Thiery,"  continued  he,  falling  into  a 
graver  tone,  "  to  tal%e  these  things  lightly.  1  can- 
not imagine  that  the  cardinal  means  me  harm  ;  for 
he  must  well  know  that  I  have  done  nothing  to  de- 

!  serve  ill,  either  from  ray  king  or  my  country.    Pray 

I  God  his  emilience's  breast  be  as  clear  as  mine  1" 
"  Umph  !"  cried  the   old  soldier,  with  a  meaning 

j,  shake  of  the  head,  "  I  should  doubt  that,  De  Blenau. 

j  You  have  neither  had  time  nor  occasion  to  get  it  so 
choked  up  as  doubtless  his  must  be.  But  these  are 
bad  subjects  to  talk  upon  ;  though  I  swear  to  Heav- 
en, Sir  Count,  that  when  1  was  sent  upon  this  er- 
rand, I  would  have  gi«f  n  a  thousand  livers  to  have 
found  that  you  had  been  wise  enough  to  set  out  last 
night  for  some  other  place." 

"  Innocence  makes  one  incautious,"  replied  De 
Blenau  ;  "  but  I  will  own,  1  was  surprised  to  find 
that  the  business  had  been  put  upon  you," 

"  So  was  I,"  rejoined  the  other.  "  I  was  aston- 
ished, indeed,  when  I  received  the  lettre  de  cachet. 
But  a  soldier  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  obey,  Mon- 
sieur de  Blenau.  It  is  true,  I  one  time  thought  to 
make  an  excuse  ;  but,  on  reflection,  I  found  that  it 
would  do  you  no  good,  and  that  some  one  might  be 
sent  to  whom  you  would  less  willingly  give  your 
sword  than  to  old  De  Thiery.  But  here  we  are  at 
he  palace,  sir.  There  is  a  carriage  in  waiting  ; 
will  you  take  any  refreshment  before  you  go  V 


182  RICHELIEU, 

The  prospect  of  imprisonmefil  for  an  uncertain 
period,  together  with  a  few  little  evils,  such  as  tor- 
ture, and  deaih  in  the  perspective,  had  not  greatly 
increased  De  Blenau's  appetite,  and  he  declined 
accepting  the  Count  de  Thiery's  offer,  but  request- 
ed that  his  page  might  be  allowed  to  accompany 
him  to  Paris.  The  orders  of  Richelieu,  however, 
were  strict  in  this  respect,  and  De  Thiery  was 
obliged  to  refuse.  "  But,"  added  he,  *•  if  the  boy 
has  wit,  he  may  smuggle  himself  into  the  Bastile 
afterward.  Let  him  wait  for  a  day  or  two.  and  then 
crave  of  the  jailor  to  see  vou.  The  prison  is  not 
kept  so  close  as  those  on  the  outside  of  it  imaigine. 
I  nave  been  in  more  than  once  myself  to  see 
friends  who  have  been  confinod  there.  There  was 
poor  La  Forte,  who  was  aflenvard  beheaded,  and 
the  Chevnlier  de  Caply.  who  is  in  there  stiil.  1 
have  seen  them  both  in  the  Bastille."' 

"  You  w  ill  never  sec  the  Chevalier  de  Caply 
again,"  replied  De  Blenau,  shuddering  at  the  re- 
memberance  of  his  fate.  "  He  died  yesterday 
morning  under  the  torture." 

'•  Grand  Dieu  .'"'  exclaimed  De  Thiery  ;  '•  this 
cardinal  prime  minister  stands  on  no  ceremonies. 
Here  are  live  of  my  friends  he  has  made  awav  with 
in  six  months.  There  was  i|A Forte,  whom  t  men- 
tioned just  now.  and  Boifs^and  De  Reineville, 
and  St.  Cheron  ;  and  now,  vou  tell  me,  Caply  too  ; 
^nd  if  you  should  chance  to  be  beheaded,  or  die 
under  the  torture,  you  will  be  the  sixth." 

''  You  are  kind  in  your  anticipations,  sir,''  replied 
De  Blenau,  smiling  at  the  old  man's  bluntness,  yet 
not  particularly  enjoying  the  topic.  "  But  having 
done  nothingtomerit  such  treatment,  I  hope  1  shall 
not  be  added  to  your  list." 

*•  1  hope  not,  I  liope  not!'  exclaimed  De  Thiery, 
"God  forbid!  I  think,  in  all  probability,  you  will 
escape  with  five  or  six  weeks  imprisonment  :  and 
what  is  that  V 

"  VVhy,  no  great  matter,  if  considered  philoeophi- 
cally,"  aaswercd  De  Blenau,  thoughtfully-    "  And 


FICIlbLIBa  18S 

yet,  Monsieur  de  Thiery.  liberty  is  a  great  thing. 
The  very  freedom  of  walking  amid  all  the  beauties 
of  the  vast  creation,  of  wandering  at  our  will  from 
one  perfecrion  to  another,  is  not  to  be  lost  without 
a  si^h.  B>jt  it  is  not  that  alone — the  sense,  the 
feeling  of  liberty,  is  too  innately  dear  to  the  soul 
of  man  to  be  parted  with  as  a  toy." 

While  De  Bicnau  thus  spoke,  half  rcasoninn  with 
himself,  half  addressiniT  his  conversation  to  the  old 
soldier  by  his  side,  who,  by  long  service,  had  been 
nearly  drilled  into  a  machine,  and  could  not,  conse- 
quently enter  fully  into  the  feelings  of  his  more 
youthful  companion,  the  carriage  which  was  to  con- 
vey them  to  Paris  was  brought  round  to  the  gate  of 
the  palace  at  which  they  stood.  Figure  to  yourself, 
my  dearly  beloved  *  re  ider,  a  vehicle  in  which  our 
pood  friend,  the  (iiant  Magog,  of  Guildhall,  could 
nave  stood  upright ;  its  long  sides  bending  inwards 
with  a  graceful  sweep,  like  the  waist  of  Sir  Charles 
Grandison  in  his  best  and  stifTest  coat ;  and  then 
conceive  all  this  mounted  upon  an  interminable 
perch,  connecting  the  heavy  pairs  of  wheels,  which, 
straggling  and  far  apart,  looked  like  two  unfortunate 
hounds  coupled  together  against  their  will,  and 
eternally  struggling  to  get  away  from  each  other. 
Such  was  the  cJmise  roxdatite  which  stood  at  the  gate 
of  the  palace,  ready  to  convey  the  prisoner  to  Paris. 

The  preparations  that  had  been  made  lor  De 
Blenau's  journey  to  Chantilly,  now  served  for  this 
less  agreeable  expedition  ;  and  the  various  articles 
which  he  conceived  would  be  necessary  to  his  com- 
fort, were  accordingly  disposed  about  the  vehicle, 
whose  roomy  interior  was  not  likely  to  suffer  from 
repletion. 

It  is  sad  to  say  farewell  to  any  thing,  and  more 
especially  where  uncertainty  is  "^mingled  with  the 
adieu.  Had  it  been  possible,  De  Blenau  would  fain 
have  quitted  St.  Germain's  without  encountering 
the  fresh  pain  of  taking  leave  of  his  attendants  ;  but 
those  who  had  seen  his  arrest,  had  by  this  time 
communicated  the  news  to  those  who  had  remained 


164  RIOOTltEO. 

in  the  town,  and  they  now  all  pressed  round  to  kiss 
his  hand,  and  take  a  last  look  of  their  kind-hearted 
lord,  before  he  was  lost  to  them,  as  they  feared,  for 
ever.  There  was  something  affect' ng  in  the  scene, 
and  a  glistening  moisture  rose  even  in  the  eye  of 
the  old  Count  de  Thiery,  while  De  Blenau,  with  a 
kind  word  to  say  to  each,  bade  them  farewell,  one 
after  another,  and  then  sprang  into  the  carriage  that 
was  to  convey  him  to  a  prison. 

The  vehicle  rolled  on  for  some  way  in  silence, 
but  at  length  De  Blenau  said,  '•  Monsieur  de  Thie- 
ry, you  must  excuse  me  if  I  am  sonriewhat  grave. 
Even  conscious  rectitude  cannot  make  such  a  jour- 
ney as  this  very  paiatable.  And  besidei,"  he  add- 
ed, "1  have  today  parted  with  some  that  are  very 
dear  to  me.'' 

"  1  saw  that,  I  saw  that,"  answered  the  old  sol- 
dier. "  It  was  bad  enough  parting  with  so  many 
kind  hearts  as  stood  round  you  just  now,  but  that 
was  a  worse  farewell  at  the  end  of  the  terrace. 
Now  out  upon  the  policy  that  can  make  such  bright 
eyes  shed  such  bitter  tears.  I  can  hardly  get  those 
eyes  out  of  my  head,  old  as  it  is. — Oh,  if  I  were  but 
forty  years  younger  !■' 

"What  then.^'  demandad  De  BlenaU;  with  a 
smile. 

*'  Why,  perhaps  I  might  have  ten  times  more 
pleasure  in  lodging  you  safe  in  the  Bastille  than  I 
have  now,"'  answered  De  Thiery.  "  Oh,  Monsieur 
de  Blenau,  tal^e  my  word  for  it,  age  is  the  most  ter- 
rible misfortune  that  can  happen  to  any  man  j  other 
evils  will  mend,  but  this  is  every  day  getting 
worse." 

The  conversation  between  De  Blenau  and  his 
companion  soon  dropped,  as  all  conversation  must 
do,  unless  it  be  forced,  where  there  exists  a  great 
dissimilaritv  of  ideas  and  circumstances.  It  is  true, 
from  time  to  time,  Monsieur  de  Thiery  uttered  an 
observation  which  called  for  a  reply  from  De  Ble- 
nau 5  but  the  thoughts  which  crowded  upon  the 
young  count  were  too  many,  and  too  overpowering 


RfCHELinr.  185 

in  their  nature  to  find  relief  in  utterance.  The  full 
dangers  of  his  situation,  and  all  the  vague  and  horri- 
ble probabilities  which  the  future  offered,  presented 
themselves  nnore  forcibly  to  his  mind  now  that  he 
had  leisure  to  dwell  upon  them,  than  ihey  had  done 
at  first,  when  all  his  energies  had  been  called  into 
action}  and  when,  in  order  to  conceal  tlieir  effect 
from  others,  he  had  been  obliged  to  fly  from  their 
consideration  himself. 

A  thousand  little  accessory  circumstances  also 
kept  continually  renewing  the  recollection  of  his 
painful  situation.  When  he  dropped  his  hand,  as 
was  his  custom,  to  rest  it  upon  the  hilt  of  his  sword, 
his  weapon  was  gone,  and  he  had  to  remember  that 
he  had  been  disarmed;  and  if  by  chance  he  cast  his 
eyes  from  the  window  of  the  carriage,  the  passing 
and  repassing  of  the  guards  continually  reminded 
him  that  he  was  a  prisoner.  De  Blenau  was  new  to 
misfortune,  and  consequently  the  more  sensible  to 
its  acuteness.  Nor  did  he  possess  that  buoyant 
spirit  with  which  some  men  are  happily  gifted  by 
nature — that  sort  of  carelessness  which  acts  better 
than  philosophy,  raising  us  above  the  sorrows  and 
uncomforls  of  existence,  and  teaching  us  to  bear  our 
misfortunes  hy  forgetting  them  as  soon  as  possible. 
He  had  too  much  courage,  it  is  true,  to  resign  him- 
self to  grief  for  what  he  could  not  avoid.  He  was 
prepared  to  encounter  the  worst  that  fate  could 
bring  ,  but  at  the  same  time  he  could  not  turn  his 
thoughts  from  the  contemplation  of  the  future, 
though  it  offered  nothing  but  dark  instinct  shapes  j 
and  out  of  these  his  imagination  formed  many  hor- 
rible images,  which  derived  a  greater  appearance 
of  reality  from  the  known  cruelty  of  Richelieu,  in 
whose  power  he  was,  and  the  many  dreadful  deeds 
perpetrated  in  the  place  to  which  he  was  going. 

Thus  passed  the  hours  away  as  the  carriage  roll- 
ed on  towards  Paris,  it  may  "be  vvell  supposed  that 
such  a  vehicle  as  I  have  described  did  not  move  with 
any  great  celerity  ;  and  I  much  doubt  whether  the 
act  of  parliament  place  which  hackney  coaches  are 


186  RICHELIEU. 

obliged  to  adhere  to,  would  not  have  jolted  the  un- 
happy chaise  roulante  limb  from  limb,  if  it  had  been 
rigorously  enforced.  But  it  so  happened  that  the 
machine  itself  was  the  personal  property  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Thiery,  who  always  styled  it  xine  belle  voi- 
titre  ;  and  looking  upon  it  as  the  most  perfect  speci- 
men of  the  coach-building  art,  he  was  mighty  cau- 
tious concerning  its  progression.  This  the  postil- 
lion was  well  aware  of,  and  therefore  never  ventur- 
ed upon  a  greater  degree  ef  speed  than  might  carry 
them  over  the  space  of  two  miles  in  the  course  of 
an  hour  5  but  notwithstanding  such  prudent  modera- 
tion, the  head  of  Monsieur  de  Thiery  would  often 
be  protruded  from  the  mindow,  whenever  an  un- 
friendly rut  gave  the  wheels  a  jolt,  exclaimed  loud- 
ly, •'  Holloa  !  postillion  !  gardes  voiis  de  carser  ma 
belle  voiture  ;"  and  sundry  other  adjurations,  which 
did  not  serve  to  increase  the  rapidity  of  their  pro- 
gress. 

Such  tedious  waste  of  time,  together  with  the 
curious  gazing  of  the  multitude  at  the  state-prison- 
er, and  uncertain  calculations  as  to  the  future,  crea- 
ted for  De  Blenau  a  state  of  torment  to  which  the 
Bastille  at  once  would  have  been  relief;  so  that  he 
soon  began  most  devoutly  to  wish  his  companion 
and  the  carriage  and  the  postillion  all  at  the  devil 
together  for  going  so  slowly.  But,  however  tardily 
time's  wings  seem  to  move,  they  bear  him  away 
from  us  notwithstanding.  Night  overtook  the  trav- 
ellers when  they  were  about  a  league  from  Paris, 
and  the  heaviest  day  De  Blenau  had  ever  yet  known 
found  its  end  at  last. 

Avoiding  the  city  as  much  as  possible,  the  car- 
riage passed  round  and  entered  by  the  Porte  St. 
Antoine ;  and  the  first  objects  which  presented 
themselves  to  the  eyes  of  De  Blenau.  after  passing 
the  gates,  were  the  large  gloomy  towers  of  the  Bas- 
tille, standing  lone  and  naked  in  the  moonlight, 
which  showed  nothing  but  their  dark  and  irregular 
forms,  strongly  contrasted   with  the  light  and  rip- 


RICHELIEU.  187 

pling  water  that  flowed  like  melted  silver  in  the 
fosse  below. 

One  of  the  guards  had  ridden  on,  before  they  en- 
tered the  city,  to  announce  their  approach  5  and  as 
soon  as  the  carriage  came  up,  the  outer  drawbridge 
fell  with  a  heavy  clang,  and  the  gates  of  the  court 
opening,  admitted  them  through  the  dark  gloomy 
porch  into  that  famous  prison,  so  often  the  scene  of 
horror  and  of  crime.  At  the  same  time,  two  men 
advancing  to  the  door,  held  each  a  lighted  torch  to 
the  window  of  the  carriage,  which,  flashing  with  a 
red  gleam  upon  the  rough  stone  walls,  and  gloomy 
archways  on  either  side,  showed  plainly  to  De  Ble- 
nau  all  the  frowning  features  of  the  place,  rendered 
doubly  horrible  by  the  knowledge  of  its  purpose. 

A  moment  afterward,  a  fair,  (soft-looking  man, 
dressed  in  a  black  velvet  pourpoint  (whom  De  Ble- 
nau  discovered  to  be  the  governor^,  approached  the 
carriage  with  an  official  paper  in  his  hand,  and  light- 
ed by  one  of  the  attendant's  torches,  read  as  fol- 
lows, with  that  sort  of  hurried  drawl  which  showed 
it  to  be  a  matter  of  form  : — 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Thiery,"  said  he,  ''you 
are  commanded  by  the  king  to  deliver  into  my 
hands  the  body  of  Claude  Count  de  Blenau,  to  hold 
and  keep  in  strict  imprisonment,  until  such  time  as 
his  majesty's  will  be  known  in  his  regard,  or  till  he 
be  acquitted  of  the  crimes  with  which  he  is  charg- 
ed, by  a  competent  tribunal ;  and  1  now  require  you 
to  do  the  same." 

This  being  gone  through,  De  Thiery  descended 
from  the  carriage,  followed  by  the  Count  De  Ble- 
nau, whom  the  governor  instantly  addressed  with  a 
profound  bow  and  servile  smile. 

"Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  said  he,  "  you  are  wel- 
come to  the  Bastille  ;  and  any  thing  I  can  do  for 
your  accommodation,  consistent  with  my  duty,  you 
shall  command." 

"  1  hope  you  will  let  it  be  so,  Sir  Governor,'  said 
old  De  Thiery  5  for  Monsieur  De  Blenau  is  my  par- 
ticular friend,  and  without  doubt  he  will  be  liberal- 


188  RICHELIEU. 

ed  in  a  few  days.  Now,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  coh- 
tiiiued  he,  *•  1  must  leave  you  for  the  present,  but 
hope  soon  to  see  you  in  another  place.  You  will, 
no  doubt,  find  several  of  your  friends  here  ;  for  we 
all  take  it  in  turn  :  and  indeed,  now-a-days,  it  would 
be  almost  accounted  a  piece  of  ignorance  not  to 
have  been  in  the  Bastille  once  in  one's  life.  So, 
farewell!'  And  he  enibraced  him  warmly,  whis- 
pering as  he  did  so,  "  Make  a  friend  of  the  gover- 
nor— gold  will  do  it  !'■' 

De  Blenau  looked  after  the  good  old  soldier  with 
feelings  of  regret,  as  he  got  into  his  belle  voiture 
and  drove  through  the  archway.  Immediately  after 
the  drawbridge  rose,  and  the  gates  closed  with  a 
clang,  sounding  on  De  Blenaus  ears,  as  if  they  shut 
out  from  him  all  that  was  friendly  in  the  world  ;  and 
overpowered  by  a  feeling  of  melancholy  desolation, 
he  remained  with  his  eyes  fixed  in  the  direction  De 
Thiery  had  taken,  till  he  was  roused  by  the  gover- 
nor laying  his  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  Monsieur  de 
Blenau,"  aaid  he,  "  will  you  do  me  the  favour  of 
following  me,  and  1  will  have  the  honour  of  show- 
ing you  your  apartment." 

De  Blenau  obeyed  in  silence,  and  the  governor 
led  the  way  into  the  inner  court,  and  thence  up  the 
chief  staircase  to  the  second  story,  where  he  stop- 
ped at  a  heavy  door  plated  with  iron,  and  sunk  deep 
in  the  stone  wall,  from  the  appearance  of  which 
De  Blenau  did  not  argue  very  favourably  of  the 
chambers  within.  His  anticipations,  however,  were 
agreeably  disappointed,  when  one  of  the  attendants, 
who  lighted  them,  pulled  aside  the  bolts,  'and 
throwing  open  the  door,  exposed  to  his  view  a  large 
neat  room,  fitted  up  with  every  attention  to  com- 
fort, and  even  some  attempt  at  elegance.  This, 
the  governor  informed  him,  was  destined  for  his 
use  while  he  did  the  Bastille  the  honor  of  making 
chateau,  and  had  not  had  lime  to  arrange  it  since  its 
last  occupant  had  left  them,  which  was  only  the 
it  his  abode  ;  and  he  then  went  on  in  the  same  po- 
liie  strain  to  apoligize  for  the  furniture  being  jn  some 
disorder,  as  the  servants  had  been  very  busy  in  the 


RICHELIEU.  189 

morning  before.  So  far  De  Blenau  might  have  im- 
agined himself  in  the  house  of  a  polite  friend,  had 
not  the  bolts  and  bars  obtruded  themselves  on  hia 
view  wherever  he  turned,  speaking  strongly  of  a 
prison. 

The  end  of  the  governor's  speech  also  was  more 
in  accordance  with  his  office  :  ''  My  orders,  Mon- 
sieur de  Blenau,"  said  he  in  continuation,  "  are  to 
pay  every  attention  to  your  comfort  and  conveni- 
ence, but  at  the  same  time  to  have  the  strictest 
guard  over  you.  lam  therefore  obliged  to  deny 
you  the  Liberty  of  the  court,  which  some  of  the 
prisoners  enjoy,  and  1  must  also  place  a  sentinel  at 
your  door,  i  will  now  go  and  give  orders  for  the 
packages  which  were  in  the  carriage  to  be  brought 
up  here,  and  will  then  return  immediately  to  advise 
with  you  on  what  can  be  done  to  make  your  time 
pass  more  pleasantly." 

Thus  saying,  he  quitted  the  apartment,  and  De 
Blenau  heard  the  heavy  bolts  of  the  door  grate  into 
their  sockets  with  a  strange  feelin;?  of  reluctance  j 
for  though  he  felt  too  surely  that  liberty  was  gone, 
yet  he  would  fain  have  shrunk  from  those  outv/ard 
marks  of  captivity  which  continually  forced  the 
recollection  of  it  upon  his  mind.  The  polite  at- 
tentions of  the  governor,  however,  had  not  escaped 
his  notice,  and  his  thoughts  soon  returrked  to  that 
officer's  conduct. 

•' Can  this  man,"  thought  he,  "  continually  ac- 
customed to  scenes  of  blood  and  horror,  be  really 
gentle  in  his  nature,  as  he  seems  to  show  himself? 
or  can  it  be  that  he  has  especial  orders  to  treat 
me  with  kindness  ?  Yet  here  I  am  a  prisoner, — 
and  for  what  purpose,  unless  they  intend  to  employ 
the  most  fearful  means  to  draw  from  me  those  se- 
crets which  they  have  failed  in  obtaining  other- 
wise 1" 

Such  was  the  nature  of  his  first  thoughts  for  a 
moment  or  two  after  the  governor  had  left  him  j 
but  rousing  himself  after  a  little,  from  reveries 
which  threw  no  light    upon  his  situation,  he  began 


190  RICHELIEC. 

to  examine  more  closely  the  apartment  which  bade 
fair  to  be  his  dwelling  for  some  lime  to  come. 

It  was  evidently  one  of  the  best  in  the  prison, 
consisting  of  two  spacious  chambers,  which  occupi- 
ed the  whole  breadth  of  the  square  tower  in  the 
centre  of  the  Bastille.  The  tirst,  which  opened 
from  the  staircase  and  communicated  with  the  sec- 
ond by  means  of  a  small  door,  was  conveniently  fur- 
nished in  its  way,  containing,  besides  a  very  fair 
complement  of  chairs  and  tables  of  the  most  solid 
manufacture,  that  happy  invention  of  our  ancestors, 
a  corner  cupboard,  garnished  with  various  articles  of 
plate  and  porcelain,  and  a  shelf  of  books,  which  last 
De  Blenau  had  no  small  pleasure  in  perceiving. 

On  one  of  the  tables  were  various  implements  for 
writing,  and  on  another  the  attendant  w  ho  had  light- 
ed them  thither  had  placed  two  silver  lamps,  which, 
though  of  an  antique  fashion,  served  very  well  to 
light  the  whole  extent  of  the  room.  Raising  one  of 
these,  De  Blenau  proceeded  to  the  inner  chamber, 
which  was  fitted  up  as  a  bedroom,  and  contained 
various  articles  of  furniture  in  a  more  modern  taste 
than  that  which  decorated  the  other.  But  the  at- 
tention of  the  prisoner  was  particularly  attracted  by 
a  heavy  iron  door  near  the  head  of  the  bed,  which, 
however,  as  he  gladly  perceived,  possessed  bolts  on 
the  inside,  so  as  to  prevent  the  approach  of  any  one 
from  without  during  the  night. 

So  much  of  our  happiness  is  dependent  on  the 
trifles  of  personal  comfort,  that  De  Blenau,  though 
little  caring  in  general  for  very  delicate  entertp.in- 
ment,  nevertheless  felt  himself  more  at  ease  when, 
on  looking  round  his  apartment,  he  found  that  at  all 
events  it  was  no  dungeon  to  which  he  had  been  con- 
signed :  and  from  this  he  drew  a  favorable  augury, 
flattering  himself  that  no  very  severe  measures 
would  ultimately  be  pursued  towards  him,  when 
such  care  was  taken  of  his  temporary  accommoda- 
tion. 

De  Blenau  had  just  time  to  complete  the  peram- 
bulation of  his. new  abode,  when  the  governor  re- 


KlCHEtlEU.  191 

turned,  followed  by  two  of  the  subordinate  minister 
of  the  prison,  carrying  the  various  articles  with 
which  Henry  de  La  Mothe  had  loaded  the  belle 
voiture  of  Monsieur  de  Thiery  :  and  as  the  faithful 
page  Irad  taken  care  to  provide  fully  for  his  master's 
comfort,  the  number  of  packages  was  not  small. 

As  soon  as  these  were  properly  disposed  about 
the  apartment,  the  governor  commanded  his  satel- 
lites to  withdraw,  and  remained  alone  with  his  pris- 
oner, who,  remembering  the  last  words  of  the  old 
Count  de  Thiery,  resolved,  as  far  as  possible,  to  gain 
the  good  will  of  one  who  had  it  in  his  power  not 
only  to  soften  or  to  aggravate  the  pains  of  his  cap- 
tivity, but  even  perhaps  to  serve  him  more  esssen- 
tially.  De  Thiery  had  recommended  gold,  all  pow- 
erful gold,  as  the  means  to  be  employed  ;  but  at 
first  De  Blenau  felt  some  hesitation  as  to  the  pro- 
priety of  offering  sordid  coin  to  a  man  holding  so 
responsible  a  situation,  and  no  small  embarrassment 
as  to  the  manner.  These  feelings  kept  him  silent 
for  a  moment,  during  which  time  the  governor  re- 
mained silent  also,  regarding  his  prisoner  with  a 
polite  and  affabie  smile,  as  if  he  expected  him  to 
begin  the  conversation. 

"  1  will  try  the  experiment  at  all  events,"  thought 
De  Blenau.'  ''1  could  almost  persuade  myself  that 
the  man  expects  it." 

liUckily  it  so  happened,  that  among  the  baggage 
which  had  not  been  prepared  for  Chantilly,  was 
comprised  a  considerable  sum  of  money,  besides 
that  which  ho  carried  about  him  :  and  now  draw- 
ing forth  his  purse,  the  contents  of  which  might 
amount  to  about  a  thousand  iivres,  he  placed  it  in 
the  hands  of  the  governor. 

*'  Lot  me  beg  ycu  to  accept  of  this,  Monsieur  le 
Gouverncur,"  said  he,  *•  not  as  any  inducement  to 
serve  me  contrary  to  your  duty,  but  as  a  slight  re- 
muneration for  the  trouble  which  my  being  here 
must  occasion." 

The  smooth-.spoken  governor  neither  testified  any 
surprise  at  this  iiroceeding.  nor  any  sort  of  reluct- 


192  RICHELIEU. 

ance  to  accept  what  De  Blenau  proffered.  The 
purse  dropped  unrejected  into  his  open  palm,  and  it 
was  very  evideiit  that  his  future  conduct  would 
greatly  depend  upon  the  amount  of  its  contents,  ac- 
cording as  it  was  above  or  below  his  expectation. 

"  Monseigneur,"  replied  he.  "  you  are  very  good, 
and  seem  to  understand  the  trouble  which  prisoners 
sometimes  give,  as  well  as  if  you  had  lived  in  the 
Bastille  all  your  life  ;  and  you  may  depend  upon  it,  as 
I  said  before,  that  every  thing  shall  be  done  for  your 
accommodation — always  supposing  it  within  my 
duty.'' 

•'  I  doubt  you  not,  sir,"  answered  De  Blenau.  who 
from  the  moment  the  governor's  fingers  had  closed 
upon  the  purse,  could  hardly  help  regarding  him  as  a 
menial  who  had  taken  his  wages  :  •'  1  doubt  you  not ; 
and  at  the  present  moment  I  should  be  glad  of  sup- 
per, if  such  a  thing  can  be  procured  within  your 
walls." 

''  Most  assuredly  it  can  be  procured  to-night,  sir,'' 
replied  the  governor  ;  •'  but  I  am  sorry  to  say.  that 
we  have  two  meager  days  in  the  week,  at  which 
times  neither  meat  nor  wine  is  allowed  by  govern- 
ment, even  for  my  own  table  :  which  is  a  very  great 
and  serious  grievance,  considering  the  arduous  du- 
ties I  am  often  called  upon  tojperform." 

"  Butof  course  such  things  can  be  procured  from 
without,"  said  De  Blenau ;  "  and  on  the  days  you 
have  mentioned.  I  beg  that  you  would  not  allow  my 
table  to  bear  witness  of  any  such  ragulations  :  and 
farther,  as  J  suppose  that  you,  sir,  have  the  command 
of  all  this.  1  will  thank  you  to  order  your  purveyor  to 
supply  all  that  is  usual  for  a  man  of  my  quality  and 
fortune,  for  which  he  shall  have  immediate  pay- 
ment through  your  hands." 

Ths  tone  in  which  De  Blenau  spoke  was  certainly 
somewhat  authoritative  for  a  prisoner;  and  feeling, 
as  he  proceeded,  that  he  might  give  offence  where 
it  was  his  best  interest  to  conciliate  regard,  he  added 
though  not  without  pain.— - 

"  When  you  will  do  me  the  honour  to  partake  my 


RIGHSLIEU.  19$ 

I  sny  to-morro':v  at  dinner,  that  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  1" 

The  governor  readily  a-rcopted  the  invitation, 
more  especiiiily  as  the  ensuing  day  clianced  to  be 
one  of  those  meager  days,  which  he  held  in  most 
particular  abhorrence.  And  now.  having  made  some 
farther  arrangemenls  with  De  Blenau.  he  left  him, 
promising  to  send  the  meal  which  he  bad  demand- 
ed. 

There  is  sometimes  r\n  art  in  allowing  one*s  self 
to  be  cheated,  and  De  Blenau  had  at  once  perceiv- 
ed that  the  best  way  to  bind  the  governor  to  his  in- 
terest, was,  not  only  t(»  suffer  patiently,  but  even  to 
promote  every  thin/  which  could  gratify  the  cupidi- 
ty of  his  jailer  or  liis  underlings  ;  and  thus  he  had 
laid  much  stress  upon  the  provision  of  his  table, 
ibout  which  he  was  really  indifferent. 

Well  contented  with  the  liberality  o^  his  new 
prisoner,  and  praying  God  most  devoutly  that  the 
cardinal  would  spare  his  life  to  grace  the  tnnals  of 
the  B;istille  lor  rrany  years,  the  governor  took  care 
to  send  De  Blenau  immediately,  the  supper  which 
had  been  prepared  for  himself;  an  act  of  generosity, 
of  which  few  jailers,  high  or  low,  woulu  have  been 
guilty. 

it  matters  little  how  De  Blenau  relished  his  meat 5 
Kuftice  it,  that  the  civility  and  attention  he  experi- 
enced, greatly  removed  his  apprehensions  for  the 
future,  and  made  him  imagine  that  no  serious  pro- 
ceedings were  intended  against  him.  In  this  frame 
of  mind,  as  soon  as  the  governor's  servant's  had  ta- 
ken away  the  remains  of  his  supper,  and  the  bolts 
were  drawn  upon  him  for  tlie  night,  he  took  a  book 
from  the  sheif,  thinking  that  his  mind  was  sufficient- 
ly r.oniposed  to  permit  of  his  thus  occupying  it  with 
some  more  pleasing  employment  than  the  useless 
contemplation  of  his  own  fate.  But  he  was  mistak- 
en. He  had  scarcely  read  a  sertence,  before  hi* 
thoughts,  flying  from  the  lettered  page  before  his 
eyes,  had  again  sought  out  all  the  strange  uncertaia 

TOL.  I.  1'* 


IW 


niCHKilKUL 


points  of  his  $ituntif>n.  and  regardipT  ihefn  under 
evei>  ligt't,  strove  t«i  draw  frtuii  il.o  presr i»t  some 
])r('s:'i«:e1br  the  liiliire.  'I'lius  hiiiltnt'  the  Htteinpt 
ill  vain,  iie  threw  ilie  boi)k  iuisuly  In.i.'.  Iumk  m  or- 
der to  ^Mve  hiiu^elf  up  taiiuiy  to  li.e  iii!|i!!se  lie 
toulil  not  res'.st.  But  as  llie'vr.lutn«  lell  tmni  his 
hnnJ  Hi)oii  ilio  table,  a  small  piece  it  wiiiten  paper- 
Hew  outlVfm  l;et\\cen  ti.e  ie:i\es,  and  alter  having 
made  a  circle  ir  iv...  in  the  air,  lei!  liglalv  lo  ll;e 
gr<iuiiit. 

De  Blenau  carelessly  ?r>ok  it  iip.surpos'inL'  it  some 
casuil  oniiotaiioii  ;  t)'ut  tlie  tirst  few  f  rds  tliat 
Cauu't't  bi-s  eye  riveted  bis  attentinn      It  begai; — 

'•  'i\)  the  nest  wrercbed  tenint  of  these  apart- 
ments I  bequeathed  a  st-cret.  wliiclr.  tbougii  useless 
to  uiR,  may  be  of  service  to  him.  To-day  1  aiu  ct-n- 
demsied.  and  to-morrow  1  siiall  be  Unl  to  li.e  tor- 
lure  or  to  death.  I  am  innocent ;  but  kr.owmtr  that 
innocence  is  not  satety.  1  have  endeavoured  lo  make 
my  escape,  and  have  by  long  labour  filcil  t!  rfiigh 
the  ifick  of  the  iron  tioor  near  the  Led  whicli  anjss 
the  sole  f.steni.ig  by  wliicli  it  was  fCcureil  fmin 
williont.  L'nlcMunal  ly.  this  door  i  niv  leads  to  a 
Sinajl  turret  str.ircjise  communicating  with  tie  inner 
court  ;  l)Ut  s'.iuuki  my  siiccosiT  in  this  ah<  de  of 
mi.sery  be.  like  me.  dei>arred  lr"m  exercise,  and 
also  from  ad  converse  with  his  feilow-prisoneis,  lliis 
iifformaii^n  may  be  useiul  t<t  iiim.  J'h  tile  with 
which!  accomnlisiied  my  endeavour  is  bchiid  the 
shelf  wliicli  coiitaiiis  these  books.  Adieu,  whoever 
Ihoti  ait      Pray  lor  the  soul  oC  the  unha[.>py  Cafdy  1" 

As  lie  rexd.ilie  hopes  which  DeBierau  had  ten- 
ceived  t'nmi  the  comforls  that  were  allowed  him 
fleif  in  air  There  also,  in  tlie  same  a[)artment.  and 
att'^iided  wifeli  the  same  care,  had  the  wretched 
Caply  r.ngered  away  the  last  hours  of  an  existence 
about  to  be  terminated  by  a  dreadful  and  auj'uizing 
deat  .  "And  such  may  he  niy  fate,"  tl.oii>rl.t  Le  Ble- 
lifto  with  an  involuntary  shudder,  springing  from  that 
a&tipalhy  which  all  things  living  bear  lo  death.  But 
fne  moment  after,  the    blood  rusbed  to  ^is  cheek, 


aiCHELIEWi  195 

i-eproaching  him  for  yielding  to  such  a  TefVmg, 
llidiigh  no  one  was  present  to  witness  its  efiects. 
"Wliutl"  thought  he,  '-I  wlio  h:ive  coiifroiiled 
death  a  thousand  limes,  to  tremble  at  it  now  1  How- 
ever,  let  me  see  the  truth  ofwliut  this  pMfier  te.ls  ;" 
ai.d  enlrniig  t!ie  be<i-room,  he  appr^.iiched  tiie  iion 
door,  <>t' which  lie  easily  drew  ha  k  the  liolls.  (.'ajdy 
having  taking  care  to  grease  them  wiih  oil  (roni  tiie 
lamp,  sfj  that  they  moved  vviiliout  creating  the 
sniaiiest  noise. 

The  moment  that  these  were  drawn,  the  slightest 
push  opened  tlie  daor.  and  De  B,fnau  Leheiii  be- 
fore him  a  little  winding  stone  staircase,  filling  tie 
wlude  ol  one  of  the  small  lowrr^;  which  contain- 
ing no  cliambers  and  only  servin  r  as  a  back  acre?s 
to  the  apartments  in  the  square  lower,  had  been 
saf!'er«d  in  some  degree  lo  go  to<lecay.  The  walls 
were  pierced  with  loop-holes,  which  bring  enlarg- 
ed by  some  of  the  stones  having  fdlen  away,  af- 
fordi'd  sufficient  a[)erture  for  the  moonlight  tii^  visit 
the  inlerinr  with  quite  entiugh  power  to  permit  of 
De  Blenau's  descending  without  other  light.  Leav- 
ing the  lamp,  therefore  iii  the  hod-room,  lie  pro- 
ceeded down  the  steps  till  they  at  once  opened  from 
the  turret  into  the  inner  court,  where  all  was  moon- 
light and  silence,  it  being  jud^red  unnecessary, after 
the  prisoners  were  locked  in  for  the  night,  to  sta- 
tion ev  n  a  single  sentry  in  a  place  which  was  oth- 
erwise so  well  secured. 

Witiiout  venturing  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  tow- 
er, De  Blenau  returned  to  his  apartment,  feelinof  a 
degree  of  satisfrrction  in  the  idea  that  he  should  not 
now  be  cut  off  from  all  communication  w  th  those 
below  in  case  he  should  desire  it.  He  no  longer 
felt  so  absolutely  lonely  as  before,  when  his  situa- 
tion I. ad  appeared  almost  as  much  insulated  as  many 
of  those  that  the  lower  diingeoiis  of  that  verv  build- 
ing contiined,  who  were  condemned  to  drag  out  the 
rest  of  their  years  in  nearly  unbroken  solitude. 

Having  replaced  tlie  paper  iri.the  bo^k,  for  the 
benefit  of  any  one  who  might  be  confined  there  in 
future;  De  Blenau  fastened  the  iron  door  on  the  in- 


I9e  arcHELiLu. 

s'de.  and  addressing  his  pmyers  to  Heaven,  he  laid 
himsel  down  to  rest.  For  some  time  liis  ti-oughts 
resuiiied  their  fonijer  train,  an  J  coiir>iiued  to  w.-vn- 
der  over  liis  siuat  on  nnd  it-  probiUle  term  nation, 
but  nt  length  his  ideas  becauie  contused,  ii  era-iry 
aui  perceptii'U  gradually  lost  their  activity,  whi.e 
fatigue  and  tl;e  rernniiiinir  weakness  t'roui  l.K  laie 
^\ounds  overcame  him,  and  he  sieoL 


CHAPTER  XV. 


Which  show  a'netv   use  for  sn  oTJ    rattle:    and  gives  a  good 
receipt  forleaJiiig  a  man  by  llie  iio»e. 

-S"ow  if  the  render  imigined  that  I  WTote  the 
wlioie  f  f  liie  twell'th  ch^p'er  for  the  f-cle  purpose 
of  tilling  a  cnck-and-a-bu!l  s'ory  about  a  country 
iniikeejjer  and  a  conjuror's  tirsi  c«)usin,  lie  was  very 
liiuch  ni:st:!ke:i.  Let  him  immedia'.elv  tran-p'-rt 
hinist-lf  biCK  to  the  lil'.le  village  of  Mrsnii  St.  Loup^ 
and  !el  h.ini  remember  the  cluirrh.  and  the  oid 
trees,  and  the  ruined  caslle  bevon.l,  N\ith  al!  the 
circiimftances  tliereunto  npperiaiidi'g;  and  if  any 
thing  tr..^t  has  since  passed  lias  put  the  particwlara 
out  <if  his  miiid.  let  Jiim  reurn  to  the  aforesaid 
twelfth  chapter,  and  learn  it  by  heart,  as  a  pennance 
for  having  forgotten  it.  But  if.  0:1  the  coiurary,  he 
rcmenjbers  it  fully — I  will  go  (m  with  my  stnry. 

It  was  in  lie  old  Chate^.u  of  St.  Lot  p.  near  the 
vilige  of  Mesnil.  on  a  suitrv  evening  ai  out  the  end 
of  September,  that  a  partv  was  assendled,  who.  in 
point  of  rank  and  greatness  of  design,  had  seldom 
beeuequp.lieu  wiihin  liii^se  walls,  cvmi  v.-hen  tliey 
Were  the  liabitation  of  the  great  r.nd  Leantiful  of 
oii;er  days.  Bur  years  and  centuries  had  passed 
since  they  had  beeu  eo  tenanted.  I'he  ccurt-yard 
was  fuil  cf  wetids.  aud  grass,  and  tangled  shrubs  : 
the  ivy  creeping  over  t'ie  ruined  walls  obtruded  its 


RICnELlETJ.  197 

iona  branches  through  the  unglazed  windows,  and 
the  breaches  which  the  seige  of  time  h:\d  eHec;ed 
ill  the  sold  innsftnry  g:ive  entrance  to  Uie  wind  of 
uifiht  and  the  wisiiry  tempest. 

'J  he  clinniber  that  1i;k1  been  chosen  fora  place  of 
meeiiiig  on  the  present  occaj^jpn  was  one  which, 
m'>re  than  any  other,  hud  escaped  llie  hr.nd  of  deso- 
lation. The  casements,  it  is  true,  had  l<mg  ceased 
to  btitist  of  glass,  and  part  ot  the  wall  itself  iiad  giS'- 
€n  wnv,  encumbering  with  its  broken  frn^ments  the 
farther  end  of  ihe  great  saloon,  as  it  had  once  been 
called.  The  rest,  jiowever,  of  ihe  chamber  was  in 
very  tolerable  repair,  and  coniained  also  several 
pieces  of  inrniture.  consisting  ol"  more  than  one 
rude  seat,  and  a  large  uncouth  table,  which  evident- 
ly had  never  belonged  to  tiiS  castle  in  its  days  of 
Sjdendour. 

At  t!ie  head  of  this  table  sat  Gaston  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  the  younger  brother  of  ihe  king,  leaning 
his  head  upon  his  hand  in  an  aUitude  of  listless  in- 
difference, and  amusii'.g  himself  by  brushing  the 
<^ust  which  had  gathered  on  ihe  board  before  him. 
into  a  thousand  lanciful  shapes  with  the  feather  of 
a  pen — now  forming  fortifications  with  lines  and 
parallels,  and  half-moons  and  curtain? — and  then 
sweeping  t^iem  all  heedlessly  away  ;  ottering  no  bad 
image  of  the  many  vast  and  intricate  plans  he  had 
eniiajred  in.  all  of  whirh  he  had  overthrown  alike 
by  Ids  caprice  and  indecision. 

ISear  him  sat  his  two  great  favourites  and  advis- 
ers, Montressor  and  St.  Ibal ;  the  first  ot  whom  was 
really  the  inconsiderate  fool  he  seemed  ;  the  sec- 
ond, though  not  wit'iout  his  shar«  of  folly,  conceal- 
ed deeper  plans  under  Jiis  a  sumed  carelessness 
These  two  men,  whos*  pride  was  in  daring  every 
thing,  afle-^ted  to  consider  noihmg  in  ihe  world 
worth  trouble  or  atlrn'ion.  ^  rofessinLf  at  the  same 
time  perfect  indifference  to  danger  and  uncoinf-  rt, 
and  contending  that  vice  and  virtue  were  n  erely 
names,  which  sig-nified  any  thing,  according  to  iheir 
application.    Such  was  the  creed  of  iheir  would-fce 


193  RICHELIEtr. 

philosophy  ;  and  Montressor  lost  no  opportunity  of 
evincing  th  it  lieeiiiessness  of  every  ihiui  serinus 
vhicti  tunned  the  principal  point  of  his  doctrine. 
In  ihe  present  lOituice  he  liad  produced  a  couple 
of  dice  from  his  pocket,  and  was  busily  enjaire'l  in 
throwing  with  St.  ib;il  lor  some  pieces  of  gold 
wiiich  lay  between  them. 

Two  in  re  completed  the  party  assembled  in  the 
old  ('hO  eau  of  St.  I>oup.  'Ihe  rirst  of  these  was 
Cinq  Mars  :  his  quick  and  ardent  spi  it  did  not  suf- 
fer liim  to  join  in  the  frivolous  pastimes  of  the  oth- 
ers, but  on  the  contmry.  he  kept  walking  up  and 
dowr  the  apartm^^nt,  as  if  impatient  for  the  arrival 
of  some  one  t.xpncted  by  all  5  ad  every  now  and 
then.,  as  he  turned  at  the  e.xtremi'y  of  the  chamber, 
he  cast  a  glance  upon  the  weak  duke  and  his  vicioua 
COinpinions,  a!m'>st  amounting  to  scorn. 

Beside  the  master  0}  the  liorse,  and  keeping  an 
equal  pace,  was  the  celebrated  President  De  Tnou,^ 
famous  for  unswerving  inteizrity  and  the  niilcl  digni- 
ty of  virtuous  c  urage.  His  personal  appearance, 
however,  corresponded  ill  with  the  excellence  of 
his  mind  ;  and  his  plain  features,  ill-formed  Hgure,, 
and  inrle;iant  movements,  contMsted  stion^ly  with 
the  handsome  countenance  and  princely  irait  of 
Cinq  Mars,  as  well  as  the  calm  pensive  expres^ion 
of  his  downcast  eye,  with  the  wild  and  rapid  glance 
of  liis  companion's. 

As  the  time  wore  away,  the  impatience  of  Cinq 
Mars  visibly  increased  ;  and  every  two  or  three 
minutes,  he  would  stop,  and  If»ok  out  f  om'  one  of 
tho  open  caKemenfs.  and  then  approaching  the  talle 
would  take  one  of  the  torches,  of  which  there  w  ere 
several  lighted  in  the  room,  and  strike  it  against 
the  wall  to  increase  the  fiame.  "It  is  very  extra- 
ordinary,"'  cried  he  at  length,  '■  that  Fontrailles  his 
not  vet  arrived." 

'•Oh!  no.  Cinq  Mars.' replied  De  Thou,  "we 
are  a  fall  hour  before  the  time.  Vou  were  so  impa- 
tient, ray  good  friend,  that  you  made  us  all  set  olf 
long  before  it  was  necessary." 


RICHELIEC.  199 

"Why,  it  is  quite  dark,"  said  the  master  of  the 
horse, '■  and  Foutiniiles  promised  to  be  hf.ro.  at 
nine. — U  i;:  surely  nine,  is  it  not.  JVloiuressi-r  V 

••  Size  ace,"  said  llie  yuiiblcr,  "  quatre  a  quair.e, 
St.  UmI.     li-hail  win  yel."' 

"  Psiiaw  !"  cried  Cinq  Mars — ''who  will  tell  me 
the  time  ?  I  wisli  we  cmdd  iiave  clucUs  made  small 
enough  to  put  in  our  pocUels." 

'•  i  will  show  you  what  will  lell  us  the  hour  as 
well  as  if  we  had,"  ansuere<l  De  Thuu.  '•  Look 
out  there  in  (he  west!  Do  you  see  what  a  red  light 
tlie  sun  still  casts  upon  tiiose  heavy  masses  of  cloud 
that  are  conii  g  i-.p  ?  Now  the  sun  goes  down  at 
seven  :  so  you  may  judge  it  can  scarre  be  yet."' 

'•Cinque  quatre!"  cried  Montressor,  throwing. 
''  \  iiave  If.'St,  alter  all — Monsieur  de  'I'hmi,  will  you 
bet  rne  a  thousand  crow,  s  that  if  is  not  past  eiyht 
by  the  village  clocU  of  Mesnil  St.  Loup'?' 

"  No,  in<leed  1"  replied  ilie  president;  '  I  n^i'her 
'  wish  to  win  your  money,  Monsieur  Montressor,  ».or 
to  lose  my  own.  Nur  do  I  see  how  such  a  bet  could 
be  determined."' 

"Oil  I  if  you  do  not  take  the  bet,  there  is  no  use 
of  inquiring  how  it  mijrht  he  determined,'^  rejoined 
Montressor.  "  Monseigneur,"  he  continued,  turn- 
ing to  (he  Buke  of  Orleans,  who  had  just  swept 
nway  His  last  fortification,  and  was  laying  out  a 
flower-garden  in  its  place;  '-canNOu  tell  liow  in 
the  name  of  (ortune  these  chairs  and  tliis  t.;d)le  caine 
liere,  wrien  all  the  rest  of  the  plice  is  as  enipty  as 
your  highnesses  purse  ?' 

'•  Or  as  vour  head.  Montressor,"'  answered  tlic 
duke.  •'  i>ut  the  truth  is.  they  were  the  property  of 
poor  ol  Pcre  Le  Rouge,  who  lived  for  manv  years 
in  these  ruins, — half-knave,  half-m  dman. — till  they 
tried  and  burnt  him  for  a  sore;  ler  down  in  the  wood 
there  at  the  font  ol"  the  hill.  Since  then  U  has  he^n 
called  the  Sorcerers  Grove,  and  the  country  people 
are  not  lond  of  passing  through  't.  which  has  doubt- 
less saved  the  oid  conjurer's  furniture  from  being 
burnt  by  iirewuud  ;  lur  none  of   liie  old  womeu  in 


200  RICHELILTJ. 

the  neighborhood  dare  come  to  fetch  it,  or  infallibly 
it  would  undergo  the  same  fate  as  its  master.'' 

'•  So,  that  wood  is  called  the  Sorcerer's  Grove,'r 
Baid  St.  Ibal,  laughing  ;••  that  is  the  reason  yout 
highness  brought  us  round  the  other  way,  is  it 
not  r 

Gaston  of  Orleans  coloured  a  good  deal  at  a  jest 
which  touched  too  near  one  of  his  prevailing  weak- 
ness ;  lor  no  one  was  more  tinctured  with  the  su- 
perstition of  the  day  thr.n  himself,  yet  no  one  was 
more  ashamed  of  sue!;  nedulity,  •'TSo,  no!"  an- 
swered he  }  *•  I  put  no  faith  in  Pere  Le  Rouge  and 
his  prophecies.  He  made  too  great  a  mistake  in 
my  own  case  to  show  himself  to  me  since  his  pre- 
dictions have  proved  false,  1  will  answer  for  him." 

"  Why,  what  did  he  predict  about  yiu,  monseign- 
eur?'*  abked  De  Thou,  who  knew  the  faith  which 
the  duke  still  placed  in  astrology. 

"  A  great  deal  of  nonsenre/'  answ^ered  the  duke, 
affecting  a  tone  very  foreign  to  his  real  feelings* 
"  He  predicted  that  I  should  marry  the  queen,  af:er 
the  death  of  Louis.  ISow,  you  see,  I  have  married 
some  one  else,  and  theretore  his  prophecy  was  fidse. 
But  however,  as  I  said,  these  chairs  belonged  to 
him  :  where  he  got  them  1  know  not — perhaps  frrm 
the  devil ;  but  at  all  events,  I  wish  he  were  here  to 
fill  one  now  ;  he  would  be  a  good  companion  in 
our  adventures.'"'  As  he  spoke,  a  bright  flash  of 
lightning  blazed  through  the  apartment,  followed 
by  a  loud  and  rolling  peal  of  thunder,  which  made 
the  duke  start,  exclaiming,  Jesu  !  what  a  flash  '.'' 

'•Vour  highness  thought  it  was  Pere  Le  Rouge." 
saidSt.  Ibal  ;  "but  he  would  most  likely  come  iil 
at  the  door,  if  he  did  come  ;  not  through  the  win- 
dow.' 

Gaston  of  Orleans  heard  the  jests  of  his  two  com- 
panions without  anger;  and  a  moment  or  two  after, 
Cinq  Mars,  who  stood  near  one  of  the  dilapidated 
casements,  turned  round,  exclaiming,  'Haikl  I 
hear  the  sound  of  horse's  feet:  it  js  Fontrailles  at 
last.  Give  me  a  torch:  1  will  show  him  where  we 
ar«." 


RICHELIEU.  201 

"  If  it  should  be  tlie  devil  now — "  said  JVIontres- 
sor,  as  Cino  Mnrs  left  the  room. 

"  Or  Peie  Lo  Rouge,"  added  St.  Ibal. 

"  Or  both/'  said  the  Duke  of  Orleans. 

"Why  ibr  cunning  and  mibchief  they  would 
scarcely  supply  the  phnce  of  one  Fontraiiies,"  re- 
joined St.  Jbal.  '■  But  here  comes  one  or  the  oth- 
er,— I  suppose  it  is  the  same  to  jour  royal  higlincss 
which.'"  >• 

"  Oh,  yes'.-' answered  the  duke,  "  they  shall  all 
be  welcome.  iS'olhing  like  keeping  good  company; 
St.  Iba!." 

As  he  spoke.  Cinq  Mars  returned,  accompanied 
by  Fontrailles,  botli  laughing  with  no  small  piee. 
"  Wnat  makes  ye  so  merry,  my  lords  ?"  (xclaiined 
Mcntresscr3  "  a  Inuoh  is  too  good  a  thing  to  le 
lost.  Has  jVIonsieur  de  Fontrailles  encountered 
his  old  friend  Sallianas  by  the  rf  ad-side,  or  what  ?"' 

'•  Not  so,-'  answered  Cinq  Mars,  "  he  has  only 
br.mbnozled  an  inkeeper.  But  come,  Fontrailles, 
let  us  not  lose  time  :  will  you  read  over  the  nrlicles 
of  alliance  to  which  we  are  to  put  our  names  j  and 
let  us  determine  upon  them  to-night,  for,  if  we 
meet  frequently  in  tliis  way,  we  shall  become  sus- 
pected ere  our  design  be  ripe." 

"  Willingly  for  my  part,''  replied  Fontrailles,  ap- 
proaching the  table,  and  speaking  with  some  degree 
of  emphasis,  hut  without  immediately  deviating  in- 
to declamation.  '•  There  certainly  never  was  a 
case  when  speedy  decision  was  more  requisite  than 
the  present.  Every  man  in  this  Icingdom,  from  the 
king  to  the  peasant,  has  felt,  and  dce^  now  feel,  the 
evils  which  we  are  met  to  remedy.  It  is  no  longer 
zeal,  but  necessity,  which  urges  us  lo  oppose  the 
tyranny  of  this  daring  minister.  It  is  no  longer 
patriotism,  but  self-defence.  In  such  a  case,  all 
means  are  justifiable  3  for  when  a  man  (as  Richelieu 
has  done)  breaks  throuph  every  law,  human  and  di- 
vine, to  serve  the  ungenerous  purpose  of  his  own 
aggrandizement ;  when  he  sports  with  the  lives  of 
bis  fellow  creatures   with   less  charity   than  a  wild 


202  RICHELIEU. 

beast;  are  we  not  hm;nd  to  consitler  liim  such,  aid 
to  hunt  liim  to  t'lo  death  for  the  iipnprai  pnferv  ?' 

De  'I'Ikhi  JrliooU  hi-5  l.ea^l.  a.-?  il' there  was  t-ome- 
thii)^  ill  tiie  imiposition  to  whicii  ho  c.ouUI  not  sub- 
scribe j  bill  (-'iiiq  Mars  at  once  <rive  liis  iiiir|u:i!ilied 
assent.  an>l  all  being  seated  rouinl  ihe  table,  Fon- 
traiiles  drew  Coith  soine  j»H|)ers.  aiul  proceeded. 

"Tiiis.  then,  is  our  tir-t  <:rand  object,"  said  he  : 
"to  deprive  this  tyrant,  whose  ai)nse  ol'  p;nver  not 
only  extends  to  ojipress  the  subject,  but  who  even 
dares,  Aviili  most  monstrous  pjesuniplinn.  to  curb 
and  overrule  the  royjil  authority,  nvikiii-r  the  mon- 
arch a  mere  shive  to  his  will,  and  the  monarciv's 
name  l)ut  a  sJiield  behind  whicii  to  shelter  his  o\vn 
crimes  and  iniquities — I  s:iy.  to  df^prive  this  usurp- 
ing favourite  ofihe  means  oi  draining  the  treasures, 
SHcrihcing  the  h.onnur.  ar.d  .spilling  the  blnod  of 
France  ;  iherf  by  to  free  our  king  from  l)ondage,  to 
restore  pea:;e  and  tranquility  to  c»ur  country,  and  to 
bring  back  to  our  lumies  long  banished  confidence, 
security,  and  ease — To  tiiis  you  all  agree  ?'" 

A  general  assent  foiiowed,  and  Fontrailles  went 
on 

"  Safely  to  effect  our  purpose,  it  is  not  only  ne- 
cessary to  ii?e  every  energy  of  our  minds,  but  to  ex- 
ert all  the  local  power  wc  possess.  F.very  mem- 
ber, therefore,  of  our  association,  will  use  all  his 
indiiPiice  with  those  who  are  attached  to  him  by 
fivour  or  connexion,  and  prepare  all  his  vassals, 
troops,  and  retainers,  to  act  in  whatsoev-  r  manner 
shall  hereafter  be  determined,  and  will  also  amass 
whatever  sums  he  can  procure  for  the  general  ob- 
ject.  it  will  also  be  necessary  to  concen'rate  cer- 
tain bodies  of  men  on  particular  points,  for  ihe  pur- 
pose of  seizing  on  so  ..e  strong  fortified  places.  .And 
farther,  it  will  be  advisable  n:)rri)wly  to  watch  the 
movements  of  tlie  cardinal,  in  order  to  make  our« 
selves  masters  of  his  per.^on." 

"  But  whose  authority  shall  we  have  for  this  V 
demanded  De  Thouj    'for  while    he  continues 


RrCHEUlTJ.  203 

prime  minister  by  the  king's  consent,  we  are  com- 
miltingr  lijgii  trensou  to  restrain  his  person-" 

'•  We  must  not  be  so  scrupulous.  De  'i'lioii."  re- 
joined Cinq  Mnrs  5  '•  we  nr.iet  i'rt'.e  his  mijesiy  from 
llfose  UKigic  chiiiiis  in  wliirli  Riclieiieu  ha^  so  long 
held  his  mind,  bel'ore  we  car.  expect  him  to  do  any 
thing  openly  :  but  I  will  take  it  upon  me  to  pri  cure 
his  private  assent.  1  have  sounrled  his  inclinations 
already,  and  am  sure  of  my  ground.  Bui  proceed, 
Ftmirailies  :  let  us  hear  what  arraniLiements  you 
liave  made  respecting  troops,  for  we  tnust  have 
son;e  power  to  back  us,  or  we  shall  fail.'" 

•'  Well,  then,"  said  Fontrailles,  ''  1  bring  with  me 
the  most  generous  offers  from  the  noble  t)nke  of 
Bouillon.  They  are  addressed  to  you,  Cinq  Mars, 
but  wore  sent  open  to  me.  I  may  as  well,  there- 
fore, give  their  contents  at  once,  and  voii  can  after- 
ward peruse  them  at  your  leisure.  The  duke  liere 
offers  to  place  his  town  and  principality  of  Sedan  in 
our  hands,  as  a  depot  for  arrns  and  munition,  and 
also  as  a  place  of  retreat  and  safety,  and  a  rendez- 
vous for  I'.ie  assembling  of  forces.  He  fart'ier 
promises,  on  the  very  Hrst  call,  to  inarch  his  victo- 
rious troops  from  Italv,  when,  as  he  says,  every  sol- 
dier will  exult  in  the  effort  to  liberate  his  country.'' 

"  Generously  promised  of  the  duke,"  exclaimed 
Monlressor,  slipping  the  table  with  mock  entiiusi- 
asm.  "  My  head  to  a  bunch  of  Macon  grapes,  he 
expects  to  be  prime  minister  in  Richelieu's  place.''" 

'•The  Duke  of  Bi'udlon,  Monsieur  de  iVlontres- 
sor,"  replied  Cinq  Mars  somewhat  wnrmly,  *'  has 
the  good  of  his  Cftunlry  at  heart;  and  is  too  much  a 
man  of  honor  lo  liaibour  the  ungenerous  thought 
you  would  attribute  to  him.'" 

"My  dear  Cinq  Mars,  do  not  be  angry,"  said 
Montressor.  "  Don  t  vou  see  how  much  ihe  odds 
were  in  my  favour  ?  Why,  I  betted  my  head  to  a 
bunch  of  grapes,  and  who  do  you  think  would  be 
fool  enough  lo  hazard  a  full  bunch  of  orapes  apainst 
an  empty  head?  But  go  on,  Fontrailles;  where 
are  the  iiext  troops  to  corns  from  V 


204  RICHELIEU. 

"  From  Spain  !''  answered  Fontrailles,  ca'mly  ; 
while  at  the  name  of  that  country,  a:  open  war  with 
France,  and  for  years  considereil  as  iis  most  dan- 
gerous enemy,  e^ch  countenance  rnund  the  table 
assumed  a  look  of  astonishment  and  disapprobatii  n, 
\vliicli  would  probably  have  (la'inled  any  other  lliun 
the  bohl  conspirator  who  named  it. 

'  iSn.  no  I"'  exclaimed  Gaston  of  Orleans,  as  soon 
as  he  had  recovered  breilh.  '•  ^one  of  the  Spanish 
CMtho;ic.')n  lor  me  ;"'  alluding  to  the  name  wliich 
had  been  used  to  stigmatize  the  assistance  that  the 
League  had  received  from  Spain  during  tue  civil 
wars  occK^ioned  by  the  accession  of  Henry  IV.  to 
the  throne.  'jNo,  no  I  Monsieur  de  Fontraiiies, 
this  is  liiuh  treason  at  once.  '" 

St.  Ibal  was  generally  supposed,  and  with  much 
appearance  of  truth,  to  have  some  secret  cormex- 
ion  with  the  Spanish  court ;  and  liaving  now  recov- 
ered from  the  Hrst  surprize  into  which  he  had  been 
thrown  by  the  bold  mention  of  an  alliance  with  that 
obnoxious  country,  he  jested  at  the  fears  of  the  tim- 
id and  unsteady  duke,  well  knowing  that  by  such 
means  he  was  easily  governed.  •'  Death  to  my 
soul!"  exclaimed  he. —  'Your  highness  calls  out 
against  high  treason,  when  it  is  w  hat  you  have  lived 
upon  all  your  life  !  Why.  it  is  meat,  drink,  and 
clothing  to  you.  A  little  treason  is  as  necesssary  to 
your  comfort  as  a  dice-box  is  to  Montressor,  a  Bar- 
bary  horse  to  Cinq  ]Mars.  or  a  bird-net  and  hawking- 
glove  to  tlio  king.  But,  to  j^peak  seriously,  mon-* 
seigneur  "  he  continued,  '•  is  it  not  necessary  that 
we  should  have  some  fartlier  support  than  that 
which  Monsieur  de  Buillon  promises  ?  His  enthu- 
siasm miy  have  deceived  him  ; — his  troops  may  not 
be  half  so  well  inclined  to  our  cause  as  he  s  h.im- 
seU  ;  he  micht  be  taken  ill  ;  he  might  ei'her  be  ar- 
rested bv  the  gout,  to  which  he  is  subject ;  or  by 
tl'.e  cardii\al.  to  whom  we  all  wish  he  was  not  sub- 
ject. .A  thousand  causes  might  prevent  his  giving 
us  the  assistance  he  intends,  and  then  what  a  use- 
ful auxiliary  would   Spain  prove.     Besides,  we  do 


RIO  fili  LIEU.  205 

hot  call  in  Spnin  to  fight  against  France,  but  for 
France.  Spain  is  not  an  enemy  of  the  coiinlry,  but 
only  of  the  cardinal ;  and  the  moment  that  man  is 
removed,  who  lor  liis  side  inlerast  and  lo  render 
iiimself  nece.^sary  has  carried  on  a  war  wh'fcli  lias 
nearly  depupulaied  the  kingdom,  a  lasting  and  glo- 
rious peace  will  be  eslauiished  between  liie  two 
countries  ;  and  thus  v/e  shall  confer  another  great 
benetit  on  the  nation."' 

••  Why,  in  that  point  of  view,  I  have  no  objec- 
tion," replied  the  Duke  ofOii^ans.  '•  But  do  you 
not  think  that  Louis  will  disapprove  of  it?*' 

"  We  must  not  let  hir.-.  k  x  w  it,"  said  Montres- 
Eor,  '-till  Richelieu  is  removed,  and  then  he  will  be 
as  glad  of  it  as  any  oiie." 

'•  But  still,''  rejoined  the  duke,  with  more  perti- 
nacity ijim  he  generally  displayed,  ''  I  am  not  fond 
of  bringing  Spanish  troops  in-o  France.  WJio  can 
vouch  that  we  shall  ever  get  rid  of  them  ?" 

"Tiialwill  1,"  answered  St.  Ibal.  "  Has  your 
highness  fngot  what  good  faith  and  courtesy  the 
Spanish  government  has  shown  you  in  your  exile  ; 
as  also  the  assistance  it  yielded  to  your  late  royal 
mother  ?  Besides,  we  need  not  call  in  a  large  bcdy 
of  troops.  What  number  do  you  propose,  Fcn- 
trailles  V 

'•  Tlio  olfer  of  Spain  is  five  thousand,"  replied 
Fontrailles ;  "with  the  pronii^e  of  ten  thousand 
more,  shouM  we  require  it.  Nothing  can  be  more 
cpen  and  noble  than  the  whole  proceeding  of  King 
I  hilip.  He  leaves  it  entirely  to  ourselves  wiiat 
guarantee  wc  will  place  in  his  hands  for  the  safety 
of  his  troops.'" 

•'  Wf'U,  well."  said  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  getting 
tired  olthe  subject,  '•'  1  iiave  no  doubt  of  their  good 
faith.  1  am  saiisfied.  St.  Ibal  ;  and  whatever  you 
thin.k  right  I  v/ill  agree  to.  I  leave  it  all  to  you 
and  Montressor." 

"  Well  then,"  said  Fontrailles,  hastily,  •'  that  be- 
ing settled,  we  will  proceed — " 

'  Your  pardon,"  interposed  Do  Thou,  "  I  must  be 
heard    r.ovv — Your   schemes   tjctend   much    farlh»r 


206  RICTHELIEC. 

than  I  had  an)'  iden  of— Cinq  Mars,  I  was  not  in 
foimed  of  all  iliis — :i;id  1  been  so.  I  never  would 
have  co.ne  here.  'I'o  serve  inv  coiintry.  lo  rid  lier 
oi:i  minister  who.  as  !  conceive,  lias  neirly  destroy- 
ed her,  Nvhd  lias  tr.impied  l-Taiice  un.ler  Ins  feef, 
and  enthralled  her  in  a  blood-stiiincd  cliRin.I  would 
to-morrow  l.iy  mv  head  upon  t!ie  block — Fiown  not, 
Monsieur  de  Fun  r  ■  es-^Cuiq  M.irs,  my  noMe 
friend,  d.)  not  look  oifen  ii-d — but  I  cuinoi,  I  will 
not  be  a  party  to  the  crime  into  wiiich  misiaken 
zoal  is  harrying  you.  Are  we  r.ot  subjects  of 
France  ?  and  is  init  Franco  at  war  wiih  Spain  7  and 
though  we  may  all  wish  and  pny  God  ihat  this  war 
mny  cease,  yet  to  treat  or  conspire  w  iih  that  ht>sti!e 
kingdom  is  an  act  which  makes  us  traitors  to  our 
couiury  and  rebels  to  our  king-.  Oid  De  Thou  lias 
but  two  things  to  lose — his  life  and  his  honour  His 
life  is  valueless.  He  would  sacrifice  it  at  once  for 
the  least  benefit  to  his  rounlry.  He  would  sacrifice 
it,  Cinq  Mars,  for  his  frieiidsiiip  for  you.  But  his 
lioniHir  must  not  be  sullied  •,  and  as  through  life  he 
has  kept  it  unstained,  so  shall  it  go  with  him  un- 
stained to  his  last  hour.  Were  it  merely  personal 
d;ingeryou  called  upon  nie  to  undergo,!  would  not 
bestow  a  thought  upon  the  risk  :  but  my  fame,  my 
allegiance,  my  very  salvation  are  roncerned,  and  £ 
will  ne.ver  give  my  sanction  to  a  plan  which  begins 
by  the  treason  d»!e  propo>al  of  bringing  foreign  ene- 
mies into  the  heart  of  the  land."' 

'•A=!  to  your  salvation,  Monsieur  le  President." 
Slid  Muntressor,  •'  I'll  uadertike  to  buy  that  for 
you  for  a  hundred  crowns.  You  shall  have  an  indul- 
gence to  commit  sins  ad  libitum,  in  which  li^h 
treason  shall  be  siiecified  bv  name.  Now,  though 
these  red-hot  heretics  of  Germany,  who  seem  in- 
clinsil  to  bring  that  fiery  place  upon  earth,  which 
his  hojinsss  threatens  them  with  in  another  v/(n-|d, 
and  who  are  assisted  by  our  Catholic  cardinal  with 
money,  troops,  ammunition,  and  all  the  hell-invent- 
ed implements  of  war, — though  these  Protestants,  I 
s.iy,  put  no  trust  in   the  indulgeuciss   which   thsir 


RICHELIEU.  201 

cpostTcy  has  rendered  cheap  in  the  market,  yet  I 
am  Mire  y<<u  r.re  by  far  too  stanch  a  tickler  for  -.ul 
aiili;iue  a!>u>es  to  donbl  tlieir  efficary.  I  suppose, 
thoiGiDre,  wlieu  siiv.iliou  can  be  had  for  a  liimdred 
crowns,  gonj  Monsieur  de  'IMuui.  xou  can  have  no 
fecniple  oii  that  scdre — luiless  indeed  )ou  areas 
stinav  as  the  dug  in  ilie  f  ible."' 

'•  Jests  are  no  Hrguincnt-;,  Monsienr  de  Mentres- 
sor/'  replie.l  de  Ttion,  with  stern  «.'r'.Vity  ;  '■  yoii 
have  a  bad  l);ibit,  yoiniir  sir,  of  sf'c.fHDg  at  wiiiit  wis- 
er men  revere.  Had  you  any  religion  yoiirsell",  of 
any  kind,  or  any  reason  lor  having  none,  v\e  miglit 
pardon  your  en  or.  beouise  it  was  founded  on  prin- 
ciple.  As  lor  myseil.  sir,  what  I  believe,  I  believe 
from  conviction,  and  wiiat  I  do.  I  do  wiili  tl;e  Hrm 
persniision  that  it  is  right ;  witlioui.  endeavi-uriii'jr  to 
chnik  a  bad  cause  with  a  show  of  spiiit,  or  It)  hide 
my  incap icily  to  defend  it  witli  stnle  jukes  and  pro- 
fiue  radlery.  Gentlemen,  you  act  as  you  jita^e  ; 
for  my  purl.  1  enter  into  iu>  pla^  by  which  Spam  is 
to  be  employed  or  treated  with." 

"I  ihai's  it  dangerous  too,'"  said  the  unsteady 
DuUeof  Orleans. 

" 'i'en  times  more  dangerous  to  attempt  any  thing 
without,"  exclaimed  Fontrailles.  "  Should  Ave  not 
be  tools  to  engage  in  such  an  euterpri?e  without 
some  foreign  power  lo  support  us  ?  We  miclit  as 
well  go  to  the  Palais  ('ardinal,  and  oh'er  our  throats 
to  Richelieu  at  once." 

Wontressor  and  St.  Ibt!  both  applied  ih.emselves 
to  quiet  the  fears  of  the  duke,  and  st.on  succeeded 
in  removing  from  his  mind  any  apprelie  .s.oii>  uu  me 
score  of  Spain  ;  but  he  cnnti^  :ii  liotn  time  lo 
time  lolook  suspiciously  at  Ue  T/if  u,  who  liad  ris- 
en from  the  tible.  and  \va ;  again  ^valking  iio  and 
down  the  apartment.  At  length  viiston  beckoned 
to  Cinq  Mars,  and  wluspe  ed  so  leihiih^  in  his  ear. 

'•  You  do  him  wrong,  m,  L"r  .'"  ex'-laimed  Cinq 
Mar.<,  indign  intly.  "  1  will  an  ove  lor  Jiis  faitri.  De 
Thou,"  he  continued,  "  the  duke  a'>ks  your  prom- 
ise not  to  reveal  what  you  have   heard   thisi  niglit  ; 


208  RICHtLIEU. 

and  though  1  think  my  friend  ought  not  to  be  sus- 
peclpd.  1  will  be  obliged  by  your  giving  it." 

'•Mr^st  as'sureflly/'  replied" De  T^iou  ;  •'  his  high- 
ness nee;l  be  under  no  alarm  On  my  honour,  in 
life  or  in  death.  I  will  never  betray  what  I  have 
heard  here.  But  that  I  miy  he;ir  as  little  as  possi- 
ble, I  will  take  one  of  these  torches,  and  wait  for 
jou  in  tlie  loue-  apartm-^nls.'" 

••  Take  care  that  you  do  not  meet  with  Perc  Le 
Rouge,  Monsieur  de'Thou."  exclaimed  St.  Ibal  as 
De  Thou  left  them. 

■  ••  Cease  your  jesting,  gentlemen,"  said  Cinq 
Mnrs ;  '  we  have  had  foo  much  of  it  already.  A 
mm  with  the  good  conscience  of  my  friend  De 
Thou,  need  not  mind  whom  he  meets.  For  my 
own  part.  J  am  resolved  to  go  on  with  the  business 
I  have  uiuiertaken  ;  I  believe  I  am  in  the  right;  and 
if  not.  God  i'lirgive  me,  for  my  inteistions  are  good." 

The  rest  of  the  pi  m  was  soon  settled  alter  the 
president  had  left  tiie  room  ;  and  the  treaty  which 
it  was  proposed  to  enter  into  with  Spain  was  read 
l!uon;ih  and  approved.  The  last  question  which 
occurred,  was  the  means  of  conveying  a  copy  of  .his 
treaty  to  tiie  court  of  King  Philip,  v^  ithout  taking 
the  circuitous  route  bv  the  Low  ('ountries.  ISum- 
er:)us  ciiificulties  presented  themselves  to  every 
plan  that  was  suggested,  till  Fontrailles,  with  an  nf- 
iectvi^Mi  of  great  modesty,  proposed  to  be  the  bear- 
er himself,  if,  as  he  said,  they  considered  his  abili- 
ties equal  to  the  task 

The  oiTer  was  of  course  ghully  ncc?>ptcd.  as  he 
well  knew  it  would  be  :  and  now  being  to  the  ex- 
tent of  hi.^  wish  furnished  wi!h  unlimited  powers, 
and  possessed  of  a  document  whith  put  the  lives 
of  all  his  associates  in  his  power.  Fontrailles  brought 
the  conference  to  an  end  :  it  being  agreed  that  the 
parti-^s  should  not  meet  again  till  after  his  return 
from  Spain. 

A  few  minutes  more  were  spent  in  seeking  cloaks 
and  hats,  and  extinguishing  the  torches ;  and  then 
descending  to  the    court-yard,   they  mounted  their 


RICHELIEB.  299 

horses,  which  had  found  shelter  in  the  rained  stnb'e 
of  the  <>!ri  caslle.  and  set  out  on  tlieir  vaiious  roa'is. 
By  this  lim",  llie  storm  hail  clp.ired  aw.iy,  Ipavinir 
llie  ai  •  but  the  purer  anil  ihe  inoie  seroue  ;  fuid  tlie 
bfiijlit  iKOOii  sliiniiig  near  I.er  ini;ri<lin!i,  servo,!  to 
lijht  Cinq  Mars  nnJ  D(3  Thou  (tn  the  way  towu'ds 
Paris,  while  the  JJuke  of  Orleans  and  his  piity  bent 
their  steps  towards  Bourbon,  and  Fonlrnilies  setoff 
ior  Troves  to  prepare  for  liis  journey  to  Spain. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


Intemltil  to  prove  dial  kecn-siiilileil  politicians  are  Imt  Iniz- 
ziids  allir  :il!,  and  to  show  liow  Phil  p  the  WouiIii;a;i  look'  a 
ride  ortiliertlirtii  usual. 

I  wiSTi  to  Heaven  it  were  possible,  in  a  friie 
Btory,  to  i'liow  the  old  Greeks 'rule,  and  preserve 
at  least  unity  ot  plAce  tliroughout.  It  wou  d  sa\e  a 
gre  it  deal  of  trouble,  both  to  write-  and  render,  if 
we  could  make  all  our  characlors  come  intu  one 
liall,  say  they  say,  and  have  done  with  it.  Bui  there 
is  only  one  place  where  they  could  be  supposed  to 
meet — lierf)es  and  heroines,  statesman  ad  conspira- 
tors, servant  and  m  isTnr.  proud  and  humble^ — the 
true  Procrustes'  bod  which  is  inade  to  tileverv  one. 
However,  as  before  1  could  gel  them  there,  tiie 
6tory  would  be  done,  and  the  generation  passed 
away,  1  must  even  violate  nil  ihi;  unities  together, 
ard  gallop  alter  my  characters  all  over  the  counii-y,_ 
as  I  have  often  sfcn  a  sliepheid  in  tiie  liandes  of 
Fran<'e,  striding  here  and  there  upon  his  l'>'>g  stiUs 
af'er  his  wiKul  and  strigirling  sheep,  and  eudenvor 
ing  in  vain  to  l.cep  them  alT  loget'ier.  1  must  ask 
the  reader,   therefore,  to  get  into  the   chaise  with 

VOL.1.  14 


flO  RICHELITO. 

me,  and  set  off  for  chaniilly  ;  and  as  we  go,  I  will 
tell  him  a  few  anecdotes  jusl  to  pass  the  lime. 

It  was  a  common  custom  wiih  Louis  fi^e  Thir- 
teenth to  spend  a  part  f;f  the  morning  in  that  large 
circular  piece  of  ground  at  Chantiliy,  called  then, 
as  now,  the  manege  ;  while  his  various  hunters,  in 
which  he  took  great  delight,  were  exercised  belore 
him.  Here,  v.hile  the  lew  gentlemen  tliat  general- 
ly accompanied  him.  stood  a  step  behird,  he  would 
lean  against  one  of  the  pillars  that  surrr  unded  the 
place,  and  remark,  \\  ith  the  most  minute  exacti- 
tude, every  horse  as  it  passed  him,  expressing  his 
approbation  to  the  grooms  when  any  thing  gave  him 
saiisfnction.  But  on  the  same  morning  which  had 
witnessed  at  St.  Germain  the  arrest  of  De  Blenau, 
something  had  gone  wrong  with  the  king  at  Chan- 
tiliy. He  was  impatient,  cross,  and  itnplacable  : 
and  Lord  Montague,  an  English  noblemr.n,  who  was 
at  that  time  much  rihout  h'm.  remarked  in  a  h>w 
voice  to  one  of  the  gentleman  in  waiting,  "  His 
majesty  is  as  peevish  as  a  crossed  child,  when  Cinq 
Mars  is  absent."' 

The  name  of  his  grand  ecuyer,  though  spoken 
very  low,  caught  the  king'."  enr." 

"  Do  any  ol  youkuow  when  Cinq  Mars  returns  ?'• 
demnnded  he.  "  ^ye  never  ))roceed  well  when  he 
is  not  here. — Look  at  that  man  now,  how  he  rides," 
continued  Louis,  pointing  lo  one  of  the  grooms  ; 
'*'  would  not  any  one  take  him  for  a  monkey  on 
horseback  ?  Do  you  know  wh^re  Cinq  Mars  is 
gone,  J\Ji  Lor?'' 

''  I  hear,  sire,"'  replied  Lord  Montague,"  that  he 
is  gone  with  Monsieur  de  Thou  to  Troves,  where 
he  has  an  estate,  about  w  liich  there  is  seme  dispute, 
which  Monsieur  de  Thou,  who  is  learned  in  such 
matters,  is  to  determine.'' 

•'  To  Troyes  !''  excl.inned  the  king,  '•  that  is  a 
journey  of  three  days — Did  not  some  of  you  tell  me, 
that  Chavigni  arrived  last  nigi,t.  while  i  was  hunt- 
ing V' 

"  1  did  so,  please   your  mnjesty,'''    replied   one  of 


RICHELIEU  211 

the  gentlemen  ;  "  and  I  hear,  moreover,  th^t  the 
cardinal  hiiuiclf  slept  at  Luzarciies  last  nij^ht,  with 
the  pi.rpose  of  being  here  early  this  morning." 

''  r.'.e  cardinal  at  Liizarches !"  said  ihe  kinjr,  a. 
cloud  coining  ovrr  liis  hiow.  ^'  It  is  sirange  I  ha.l 
not  notice — we  sh.all  scarce  have  room  for  Iheni  all 
—1  expect  tie  queen  to-night — and  the  cardinal 
and  her  m^jeity  are  as  fond  of  each  other  r.s  a  hawk 
and  a  heron  poidet.'' 

L.iuis  was  evidently  puzzled.  Now  the  best  way 
to  cuttlie  the  gordian  knot  of  an  embarras,  is  to  run 
away  from  it,  and  let  it  settle  itself.  It  is  sure  to 
get  unravelled  somehow  5  and  by  the  lime  }oi.i 
come  back,  a  th.ousand  to  one  the  .fracas  is  over. 
Louis  the  'J'hirteenth,  who  of  all  men  on  earlh  hated 
what  is  called  in  the  A'ulgar  tongue  a  piece  of  loork, 
except  when  l.e  made  it  hin-se'.f,  w;is  very  much  in 
the  habit  of  adopting  'he  expedient  above  mention- 
ed, anil,  indeed,  had  been  somewhat  a  loser  by  the 
experimant.  However,  it  was  a  habit  now.  ci  n- 
■firined  by  age,  and  therefore  more  powerful  tiian 
nature.  'Accordingly,  after  thinkiiig  f<.r a  moment 
about  the  queen  and  the  cardinal,  and  their  mutual 
hatred;  and  their  being  pent  up  together  in  the  small 
spare  of  Ciiantilly,  like  two  game  cocks  in  a  cock- 
pit} and  seeing  no  end  to  it  wiialevcr,  he  suddenly 
burst  forth — 

'•  Come,  messieurs.  Til  go  hunt.  Quick  !  saddle 
thediorses  I"  and  casting  kingly  care  (rom  his  mind, 
Tio  began  humming  he  old  air  Qne  ne  suis  je  uv, 
Bergerl  vvhile_he  walked  across  the  manege  to- 
wards the  stables.  But  just  at  that  moment.  (^Iia- 
vigni  prescnied  liimsell",  doffing  his  hat  with  all  re- 
specr.  to  the  king,  who  could  not  avoid  seeing  hiin. 

I.ouis  was  brougtit  to  bay.  but  siill  he  stood  his 
ground.  "Ah  !  good  day,  Monsieur  de  Chavi-jni,'' 
exclaimed  he,  moving  on  towards  the  stables. 
"  Come  in  good  time  to  hunt  with  us.  We  know 
you  are  free  of  the  forest." 

"  I  humbly  thank  your  majesty,"  rcflied  the 
«tatesxaani  "  but  I  ara  attending  tho  csTduaal." 


212  -RrCHELIETP. 

"And  why  not  attend  the  king,  sir  ?'  Ha  T'  e.t- 
elnimeJ  Lnuis,  liis  brmv  gatherinc:  into  a  heavy 
frown.     ••  It  is  our  will  ihat  you  attend  us.  sir." 

Chivigni  (lid  ii«)t  olieii  commit  sucli  blunders,  but 
it  was  not  very  easy  to  remember  at  all  limes  lopiy 
those  external  marks  of  respect  which  generally  at- 
tend real  pc»wer,  to  a  person  wh.o  had  weakly  re- 
signed his  authority  into  the  hands  of  another  :  and 
as  the  cardinal  not  only  possessed  kinjly  sway,  but 
maintained  kinely  state,  it  sometimes  happeie^l  that 
t'le  kiri'T  himself  was  treated  v  ith  scanty  ceremony. 
Tills,  however,  always  iiTitated  Louis  not  a  little. 
He  cared  not  for  the  .«plendour  of  a  throne,  he  car- 
ed not  even  for  the  luxuries  of  royalty  ;,  but  of  the 
personal  reverence  due  to  his  station,  he  would  not 
bate  an  iota,  and  clung  to  the  shadow  when  he  had 
let  the  substance  pass  away.  The  statesman  now 
hastened  to  repair  his  error,  and  bowing  profnundly, 
he  replied,  "'  Had  I  not  tiiought  that  in  serving  the 
cardinal  1  best  served  your  mnjesty,  I  should  not 
have  ventured  on  so  bold  an  answer  ;  but  as  your 
mijestv  is  good  enouah  to  consid^  my  pleasure  in 
the  chase,  and  the  still  greater  pleasure  of  accom- 
panying you.  your  invitation  will  be  more  than  ex- 
cuse for  breaking  my  appointment  with  the  cardi- 
nal." 

To  bear  the  burthen  of  forcing  one  of  the  council 
to  break  his  engagement  with  the  prime  minister, 
and  all  for  so  trifling  a  cause  as  an  accidental  hunt- 
inj  partv,  wns  not  in  the  least  what  the  king  wish- 
ed or  intended,  and  he  would  very  willinglv  have 
excused  Chavigni's  attendance  ;  but  Chavigni  would 
not  be  excused. 

The  wily  statesman  well  know,  that  Richeliea 
had  that  d'ly  a  point  to  carry  w  th  the  king  of  the 
deepest  importance  as  to  the  stabilitv  of  his  power. 
The  queen,  whom  the  cardinal  had  long  kept  in 
complete  depression,  being  now  the  mother  of  two 
princes,  her  influence  was  increasing  in  the  couii- 
try  to  a  degree  that  alarmed  the  minister  for  his 
own  sway.     It  was  a  principle   with    Richelieu   al-. 


mCHELIEU.  2 1 3 

ways  to  meet  an  evil  in  its  birth;  and  seeing  plaln- 
Iv  "tliiif,  as  t!ie  kin<T"s  health  declined — and  it  was 
tlien  failin,'  fast — the  pirty  of  Anne  of  Austria 
^voll!d  increase,  if  he  did  not  take  strong  me  inures 
to  annihilite  it — lie  rPSi»lved  al  onco  iniuiii  her 
with  her  liii.s')and,  !o  deprive  her  of  hf-r  chi'dTeii, 
an  i.  if  r«()ssib'e  even  to  spnd  her  liack  to  Spiin. 
*'  And  then."  thought  he.  *'  after  the  kin.f's  d  ath  I 
shall  he  re'ient. — Heg;Mit  ?  King!  -ay,  ami  one 
iiio'C  desTotic  than  ever  sat  upon  th«  throne  of 
France.  For  twenty  years  tliis  youngdanphin  must 
be  under  my  guidance;  ami  it  will  he  strairje  in- 
deed if  I  cannot  keep  him  there  till  my  smd  l)e 
run.''  And  the  proud  rn  ui  who  rf^a.soncd  thus, 
knew  nnt  that  even  then  lie  trembled  on  the  verge 
•of  the  grave. 

"  Aiiisi.  (Ji*=ipa(piir?  pen  sap-rs 
l)«r3  rajiiiies  liieiil.iiis  (In  leiiips, 
Nos  (lesirs  eiiil»i;i3«t'iil  <!<■•!  ^!;<';, 
I'.l  irons  ri'-iviias  q'lcdts  inslHiis." 

However,  the  object  of  his  presei»t  visit  to  Chan- 
liUy  was  to  complete  the  ruin  of  the  qurnn  ;  and 
Chavigiii.  who  suffered  his  eyes  to  be  blinded  to 
simple  right  and  wrong  by  the  maxims,  of  state 
policy,  lent  himself  eniirely  to  the  cardinal's  meas- 
ure's, little  imagining  that  personal  hatred  had  any 
share  in  the  motives  of  the  great  minister  whose 
steps  he  folhnved. 

A  moment's  reflection  convinced  Chavigni  that 
he  mi^jht  greatly  promote  the  object  in  view  bv  ac- 
companying tlie  king  in  the  present  instance.  He 
itnew  that  in  difficult  enterprises  the  most  trifling 
circumstances  may  be  turned  to  advantage  ;  and  he 
considered  it  a  grea*  thing  gained  at  that  moment, 
to  lay  Louis  under  the  neceS'ityof  oflering  some 
amei'.ds.  even  f.*r  the  apparent  trifle  of  making  him 
break  his  appf>intment  with  Richelieu.  In  riiling 
with  the  king,  he  wonid  have  an  opportunity  *^ 
jioting  the  monarch's  stale  of  mind,  which  he  per- 
ceived was  unusually  irritated,  and  also  of  prepar- 
ing the  way  for  those  impressions  which  Richelieu 
intended  to  give  :  and  accordingly  he  avoided  with 
~|  *Oflsummate  art  any  subject  which  might  opea  tJio 


214  ''KICnELIEU. 

way  fm  Lonis  to   withdraw  his   previous    order  to 
accompany  him. 

Having  alreitiy  followed  one  rnynl  hunt  somewhat 
too  nii!:ulely,  we  will  not  nttemp'  totrire  ihe  pres- 
ertj  only  observing  thai  during  the  couise  ot  t!ie 
d.\y.  Cliavi^ni  h.id  many  opporiuiii'ips  of  (conversing 
with  tlie  Ui'ig,  and  took  caie  to  inform  liiin  that  the 
campaign  in  i!  .;  i\ethe.l:ind<  was  shov\inj  itself 
niucn  a-'ainst  ihe  arms  of  France  ;  that  no  plan  uas 
formed  %  the  government,  wi.ich  did  not  by  some 
means  reach  the  ears  of  tiie  S^)ani3h  gpnnrais,  and 
consequently  that  ail  t:ie  manosu vies  ot' the  French 
troops  were  unavailing  5  and  irom  tiiis.  hs  a  natnrat 
devluction,  he  inferred,  that  some  one  at  llie  court 
of  France  must  convey  information  to  tiie  enemy  ^ 
miniiling  these  pleisant  matters  of  liis  -ourse,  with 
sundry  sage  observations  resper-ting  the  inqnity 
and  baSLML'iS  of  thus  betraying  France  la  her  ene- 
mies. 

Louis  was  exactly  in  the  hum^^ur  that  tlie  states- 
man could  have  wished.  Peevish  ironi  the  absence 
of  Cinq  Mars,  and  annoyed  b)  tlie  nnjexpeeted  coin- 
ing ot  Kicnelisu.  he  listened  wiih  indignation  to  alts 
Ibat  Chavi.;ni  told  him,  of  any  on&  in  France  con- 
veying inteiligence  to  a  country  wiiich  he  hated 
wita  the  b!iiid«st  antipathy. 

Thi',  predominant  passion  in  the  king's  mind  had 
long  been  his  dislike  to  Spain,  but  m'>re  especially 
to  Piiilip,  whom  he  regarded  as  a  personal  enemy  i 
and  Chavigni  easily  dis-^erned,  by  the  way  ia  which 
the  news  lie  conveved  was  r'-ceived.  that  if  tlioy 
could  rast  any  probable  suspicion  on  ihe  queen 
(and  ('havigni  really  believed  her  gnilcy.)^  Louis 
would  set  no  bounds  to  his  anger.  But  just  at  the 
moment  he  Avas  conjratulating  hiiJiself  upon  the 
probable  success  of  tlieir  schemes,  a  |)art  of  the 
storm  he  had  been  so  busily  raising  fell  unexpect- 
edly upon  liimsrlt". 

'•  Well,  Monsieu- dc  Chavigni,"  said  the  king,  i 
after  the  chase  was  over,  and  the  royal  party  were  I 
riding  slowly  back  towards  Chantilly,  "  this  hunting  I 
is  a  figiit  noble  sport :  think  you  not  so,  sir  V'  I 


niCHELlEU.  21» 

"  In  truth  I  do,  sire,"  replied  Chavigni ;  "  and 
even  your  majesty  can  scurce  love  it  better  than 
myeir." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  sir,"  rejoined  the  kin^, 
knitting  his  brows ;  •'  'lis  a  good  sign.  But  one 
thing  I  must  tell  you,  which  is,  that  I  do  not  choose 
my  royal  forests  to  be  made  the  haunt  of  worse 
beasts  than  stags  and  boars — No  wolves  and  tig-^rs, 
— Do  you  take  me,  sir  I" 

'•  INo,  indeed,  sire,"  replied  Chavigni,  who  really 
did  not  compreliend  the  king's  meaning,  and  was 
almost  tempted  to  believe  that  he  had  suddenly 
gone  mad.  '■'  .Allow  me  to  remind  your  majesty 
that  wolves  are  almost  extinct  in  this  part  of 
France,  and  that  tigers  are  altogether  beasls  cf  an- 
other country." 

"  There  are  beasts  of  prey  in  every  part  of  the 
world,"  answered  the  king.  '*  Whatl  mean,  sir,  is, 
that  rob!)ers  and  assassins  are  beginning  to  frequent 
our  woods ;  especially,  sir,  the  wood  of  Mantes. 
Was  It  th:\t.  or  was  it  the  forest  of  Lay e.  in  which 
tlie  young  Count  de  Bleiiau  was  attacked  the  other 
day  ?  ' 

it  wns  not  easy  on  ordinary  occasions  to  take 
Cliavigni  by  surprise,  and  he  was  always  prep-red 
to  repel  open  attack  or  to  parry  indirect  questions, 
with  that  unhesitating  boldness,  or  skilful  evasion, 
the  proper  npplication  of  which  is  but  one  of  the 
lesser  aris  of  diplomacy  5  but  on  the  present  occa- 
sion, the  king's  question  was  not  only  so  unexpect- 
ed as  nearly  to  overcome  his  habitual  command  of 
countenance,  but  was  also  uttered  in  such  a  tone  as 
to  leave  him  in  doubt  whether  Louis's  suspicion's 
were  directed  personally  towards  himself.  He  re- 
plied, however,  without  hesitation  :  "  I  believe  it 
was  the  wood  of  Mantes,  sire  3  but  I  am  not  per- 
fectly sure." 

'•  Vou,  of  all  men,  nuj;ht  to  be  v.'ell  informed  on 
that  point.  Monsieur  de  Chavigni,''  rejoined  the 
king.  "  since  you  took  care  to  send  a  servant  to  «e« 
it  rightly  done." 


216  RICRELIEB 

The  matter  wn?  now  beyond  a  doubt,  and  Cha- 
Yigri  leplieii  boldly,  •'•Your  ninjesty  is  piea'-eJ  lo 
speak  ill  riiidles,.  which  I  am  really  al  a  loss  locom- 
prelifiitl." 

"  Well.  well,  sir."  said  Louis,  liaslily, '•'  it  shall  be 
inqu  red  into,  and  made  |)laiii  both  to  you  ;i!.d  nie. 
Any  lliii'jf  llml  is  doiio  le^nllv  must  not  be  ioo  sirici- 
h  ni'iircd  ;  but  I  wiiinoi  see  the  l;iws  brf  ken.  and 
iiiuuler  aJienipted.  even  io  serve  siaie  purposes,' 

'J'iiiis  soeukino'.  the  kiiig  put  his  lifirse  inio  a 
quitkfr  p:icR  and  Ciiavitjiti  loijnwed  with  his  mind 
5:Ot  a  I'.lile  ri'scniiipi-srd.  liitiugli  I  is  CiU!i?en;tiire 
ofiered  iu>t  the  slightest  trace  of  (  inh.iria>SH!ent. 
llmv  he  was  lo  act.  now  beranie  ilie  quesium  ; 
and  r»niiins»over  iti  hist-wn  nrkiml  all  ihe  circuni- 
sUmces  coiiuecied  willi  the  attack  upon  the  Count 
de  Bit'nnu.  he  cnuid  see  no  oilier  m  eans  by 
wljicli  Liiu-s  cnuid  hnve  become  acipiaintnl  wish 
hi!i  participalion  ti.e:e-n.  tlnis  by  xhe.  b-qu  icity  of 
Philip,  the  wooilman  of  Mani*s  :  and  as  he  cnme 
to  this  conclusio:',  Chavi^Ei  intcrnailv  cursed 
that  confident  security  which  had  made  him  re- 
jf^cx  the  a.lvice  of  Lafenvis,  wlien  '.'^e  sharp-wit- 
led  ju  !ge  had  ciuiselled  him  to  arrrst  Philip  on 
firsi  d  scoveririix  ihal  Im  h:td  rein:irked  the  hvery 
of  Isabel  and  silver  nra<>n;r  tiie   robbers. 

In  liie  present  inslaiico.  tl'.e  iiriiable  and  «aii.«u- 
ally  dec  ded  hnm;  ur  of  the  kmg.  made  him  lear 
that  in(pMrips  migh'  be  inslivuied  iinnietii;iteiv, 
whir-h  would  noi  i.nly  be  dmgerous  to  hin)-eir per- 
son dl>,  bat  miglit  probably  dveril  row-  ail  tluse 
pi  ins  w|  icii  lie  had  been  lalmurinjr.  in  coi-ju  iciiou 
with  the  c^irdiual.  t"  brinjr  lo  perfection.  Cdcolat- 
iM'_r  rapidly.  thereOire,  all  the  conscqueares  which 
mlg't  OM!^ue.  (■ha\iini  resolved  at  once  to  have  trie 
woumin  placed  in  such  a  sitnai.>n  as  to  prevent 
h  m  li<  m  t;ivin_'  .nn\  f-rthpr  evii'enre  <'f  what  he 
liiil  seen.  But  fiir  ;". <  m  s!i<)v,in.r  any  uaiimely 
ha&te.  though  he  W3s  ihe-first  lo  dism-'sunt  in  the 
courtyard  to  ofFt-r  the  kis.g  his  aid  in  alighting, 
yet  that  ceremony  performed,  he  loitered  patting 


RICHELIEU.  217 

Jiis  horse's  neck,  and  giving  trifling  directions  to 
his  giDom.  till  f-ucli  time  as  Lotiis  hud  entered  th"; 
paia-e.  and  Ids  liguie  ha  I  ent.eic'd  tiie  pila-e.and 
liis  ligure  liavl  hcen  seen  passini^  tLe  window  at 
the  i,<'p  of  t'ne  si  lircase.  Tiia*.  mi'inent,  lu'wever, 
Ciiavigni  darted  inio  the  chateau  and  seeking  his 
own  a'fjarinients,  lie  urute  an  order  (or  ihe  arrest  of 
Piiilip  ti.e  wncxiinan.  nhich  wiih  ilic  s.?m:i  des- 
paicli  he  (.hired  in  ihe  hands  <:f  t*  o  uf  his  most 
iievoud  cie.i'uri.'s.  addmg  a  Inilet  t  >  t'lC  governor 
«>f  ;he  li  istilie.  in  wlijcii  he  bej:>2ed  him  to  trent 
the  |»ii*oMer  wiih  all  kiiHlnos  and  allow  hitu  all 
sons  ot"  libt^rty  AViiliin  the  pri-on.  but  on  no  ac- 
count to  let  him  escape  tli  i:e  received  iio;ice 
from  liim 

We  have  a'rendv  had  occasion  tn  see  t'at  Clia- 
vigni  was  a  rnia  wht)  considered  state  policy  para- 
nu'Unr.  to  every  other  principle  5  and  natiiraly  not 
of  an  un^fonde  disposition  «  r  i;;nob!e  spirit  he  l-ad 
tinf  .rtuir.itely  he-^n  educated  in  a  beliel  thit  notii- 
in^  wiiicii  was  expedient  for  the  statesman  couhl 
he  discreiiiiablo  to  tlr-  mm.  However,  tiie  origin 
al  bent  of  his  mind  generill  fh<)we«l  iistdf  in  some 
degres.  even  in  Ins  mo^t  unjustifi ahio  actions  as 
the  i:round-work  of  a  [i-riuie  will  still  shine 
t^roiign.  and  give  a  cohnir  to  whatever  is  paiiit:d 
al;ove  it.  In  the  present  instince,  as  his  only  ob- 
ject was  to  keep  the  woodman  out  of  ihe  way  till 
bu^h  lime  as  the  kinjr's  nnwonied  mood  had  |)a^sed 
by,  h<.' gave  the  strictest  commands  to  these  who 
bore  lie  Older  for  Piiilips  airest.  t»  nse  him  with 
all  possible  gentleness,  and  to  a^sur^  li's  wife  and 
famiiy  that  no  harm  was  intended  10  Idm.  He  al- 
so sent  him  a  purse,  to  provide  for  his  comfort  'n 
the  [.rison.  wliicli  he  w^-U  krew  could  not  be  pro- 
cured  wiilmut  the   potent  aid  of  uold. 

T'e  two  attendants,  accnsioinc^tl  to  execute  cm- 
mai?d«  vvliicli  rcqu»ted  despatch,  set  out  iii>laritly 
on  their  journey,  proceetling  with  ali  speed  to 
Beaumont,  and  thence  to  Pontoise,  where  cross- 
ing the  river  Oi»e  they  soon  after  arrived  at  Meu- 


218  RrCIIELIED. 

Ian  :  and  here  a  dispute  arose  concerning  the  ne- 
cessity of  railing  upon  two  exempts  of  that  ciiy  to 
ai<l  in  arresting  Philip  the  woodman,  tiie  one  serv- 
ant arguing  that  they  liad  no  such  orders  from  their 
lord,  and  the  oiher  replying  that  liie  said  Philip 
inii;ht  have  twenty  companions  lor  aught  they  knew, 
who  miirht  resist  their  auliior  tv.  they  not  being  le- 
gally entitled  lo  arrest  his  mijesty's  lieges.  Tliis 
argument  was  too  conclusive  lo  be  refuted  ;  and 
they  ihc -efore  waited  at  Meulnn  till  the  two  ex- 
empts were  ready  to  accompany  them.  It  being 
night  when  they  arrived  at  JMeu!an,and  the  two  ex- 
empts being  engaged  in  '•  potations  deep  and 
strong,'  drinking  long  life  to  the  Cardinal  de  Riche- 
lieu, and  success  to  the  royal  prisons  of  France, 
some  time  wns  of  course  spent  l)el<:re  the  party 
could  proceed.  However,  alter  the  lapse  of  a'Kmt 
an  hour,  discussed  no  matter  !io\v.  they  all  con- 
trive! to  get  into  their  saddles,  and  parsing  the 
bridge  over  the  Seine,  soon  reached  the  first  httle 
villa-je,  whose  white  houses,  conspicuous  in  the 
moonlight,  seemed,  on  the  dark  back  ground  of  the 
forest,  a.s  if  thev  had  creot  lor  protection  into  the 
very  bosom  of  the  wood  ;  while  it.  s-'.veeping  round 
them  on  every  side,  appeired  in  its  turn  to  afford 
them  the  Iriendty  sheiier  that  they  s(  ught. 

.Ml  was  silence  as  they  passed  through  the  vil- 
lage, announcing  plainly  that  its  sober  inhabitants 
were  comfortably  dozing  away  the  darkness.  Tliis 
precluded  them  from  asking  their  way  to  Philip's 
dwelling;  but  (Thavi^ni  had  been  so  precise  in  his 
dir*".ction.  thnt  notwithstanding  the  wine  pots  of 
Meulan.  the  two  servants,  in  a')Out  half  an  hour  af- 
ter having  entered  the  wood,  recorrnised  the  a'jreu- 
voir  and  coltn^e.  vvitli  the  loi\g-f(illed  oak  and  piece 
of  broken  ground,  and  all  the  other  ff  cetera  which 
entpre'!  into  the  description  they  had  received. 

Tiiere  is  nothing  half  so  amusing  as  the  bustle 
witit  which  little  people  carry  on  the  trifles  that 
are  intrusted  to  them.  They  are  so  important,  and 
60  active^  one  would  tliiDk  that  the  world's  turning 


RICHELIftJ.  219 

round  upon  its  axisTJcpended  upon  them  ;  while  all 
the  mighty  business  o|' ti.e  universe  slips  by  as  qui- 
etiy  as  if  the  wf.eels  were  oiled  ;  and  the  govern- 
meiit  «)f'  a  nnti<»ii  is  offen  decided  (A'er  a  cup  of 
eortec,  or  tlie  la!e  of  empire;s  changed  by  an  extra 
bottle  of  Johanrs!»erg. 

Bui  In  return.  Chavigni's  two  servants,  with  the 
two  exempts  of  Meu'.an,  were  as  important  and  as 
bu<y  -IS  emmets  when  their  hill  is  disturbed — or  a 
sou>secretarle  when  he  opens  his  tirst  despilcli, 
and  receives  information  of  a  revolutiou  in  the  isle 
of  Mm — or  the  fleas  in  an  Italinn  bed,  when  you 
suddenly  light  your  cmdle  to  see  what  the  devil  is 
biting  you  so  inlerniilly — or  the  devil  himself  in  a 
gale  of  wind — or  anv  other  little  person  in  a  great 
fiurry  about  nothing.  So  having  discovereil  the 
cottage,  they  held  a  profounil  council  bef(»re  the 
door,  disputing  vehemenily  as  to  the  mode  '>f  pro- 
ceeding. One  of  the  e^enifits  proposed  to  knock 
at  the  door,  nn  I  then  sndilenly  to  seize  their  prison- 
er as  he  c.ime  to  it;  but  C'havignis  servants  though 
som^wliat  dipped  in  the  L(;the;in  Hood  in  vvhi^^h  the 
exempts  of  Moulan  had  sednced  them  to  bathe,  re- 
nieniberp<l  the  strict  nrders  of  iheir  master,  to 
treat  Fhilip  with  all  possible  gentleness,  and  judg- 
inz  that  the  mole  proposed  might  stirtle  hin»,  and 
a^ect  his  nerves,  they  decided  ag:iinst  the  mo- 
tion. 

A  variety  of  other  propositions  were  submitted, 
and  rejected  by  the  m  ij  >rit.v,  eacli  one  lining  no- 
body's suj'ieslion  but  his  own  ;  till  one  of  the  ex- 
empts, not  bearing  clearly  in  nund  the  subject  of 
discn.ssion,  knocked  violently  at  t!ie  door. declaring 
it  w;is  tiresome  l(x  stand  disputing  on  their  led.  and 
that  thf^y  could  settle  how  they  shon'd  gain  admis- 
sion aiter  they  had  got  in  antl  s;it  down. 

'J'liis  seemed  a  verv  go-td  motion,  and  settled  the 
matter  at  once  ;  anil  Piiilip,  who  was  in  that  sound 
and  fearless  sleiep  which  innocence,  content,  and 
labour  can  alone  bestow,  not  exactly  answering  at 
first,  they  all  repeated   the   noise^  not  a  Uttle  ea- 


220  RICHELIEIfc 

raged  at  his  want  of  attention  to4)ersonages  of  such 
lii^h  merit  as  tliernselves. 

TIk;  iiiomfni  after,  llie  wondmnn  appeared  at 
the  wiiultiw,  •.Trill  Sfein^'  s< nao  travellers,  as  Ise 
imairiueil,  Ise  bade  lliein  uait  l;il  he  iiad  lighted 
a  lain;),  and  he  wf'iiid  cmiu;  to  liicm.  Aecord- 
in;jl\ ,  in  a  nxirneni  or  two  Philip  opened  t!:e  doc^r, 
purpos.n'^  e.tiier  to  jjive  tiieui  shelter,  or  to  direct 
them  on  Uifir  way,  as  they  uiiglit  requiree  but 
when  ihe  l;.>ht  gleamed  upon  tuc  i)lack  dresses 
of  the  exempts,  and  tl.en  up«>n  ih.e  well-known  col- 
ours otisilxl  and  silver  tlie  woodinans  iieart  sa  k, 
and  his  cheek  innitd  paJe.  and  lie  Jiad  scarcely 
power  to  licm  in»l  their  errand. 

'•I  will  tell  \ou  all  tiial  prpsenlly/' replied  the 
principal  .servant  ollhe  two.  who,  like  many  anoth- 
er small  man  \i\  many  another  place,  ihcsuglit  to 
become  'irre  a  by  much  speaking.  "  First  let  us 
come  in  and  rest  ourselves  j  lor  as  you  may  judge 
by  our  du.-*\v  double  s,  we  have  ridden  far  and 
hard:  and  alter  that  I  will  expoui>d  to  you.  good 
friend,  the  cause  of  our  coming,  with  suiuiry  oth- 
er cur.oas  parliculars,  which  may  both  entertain 
anil  ailect  ym  " 

Piiilip  sudered  them  to  enter  the  house,  one 
af;er  another,  and  selling  down  the  lamp,  he  gaz- 
ed upon  them  in  silence,  his  lutm-r  at  gentle- 
men in  black  coats  and  long  straignt  swords,  as 
well  as  those  dressed  in  Isabel  and  silver,  being 
quite  unsj)eakah!e. 

'•  \\'ell,  Monsirur  Philip  le  Bucheron,"  .<».nid 
the  Fpnkesmaan,  throwing  himself  into  the  oaU»*n 
settle  with  that  sort  of  percussion  of  hreall)  de- 
noiing  fat.gue  :  "yon  seem  friiii.tened.  Monsieur 
Philip;  hut.  good  Monsieur  Piiili[>,  you  hive  no 
cause  for  fear.  We  are  all  your  friends,  Mon- 
sieur Piiilip." 

■  I  nin  glad  to  hear,  sir."  replied  the  wood- 
cutter 5  'but  may  1  know  what  you  want  with 
me  ?■-■ 

"  Why,  this  is  the  truth,  Monsieur  Philip,"  re- 


RiCHELlEO.  221 

plied  the  servant,  "  it  seems  that  his  majesty  the 
king,  whom  we  have  just  left  at  Chaiitillv,  is 
very  angry  abcml  sometiiing,— Lord  knows  whatl 
anil  our  noble  employer,  not  to  say  master,  the 
Count  de  Ciiavi^^i,  having  once  upon  a  tune  re- 
ceive! som:!  courte>y  at  your  hands,  is  concern- 
ed lor  your  safety,  and  has  therelbre  deemed  it 
necessary  that  you  should  be  kept  out  ot  the 
way  lor  a  time." 

•'Oh,  if  that  be  the  case,"  cried  Philip,  rub- 
bing his  hands  with  glaiiness,  'Mhough  1  know  not 
wljy  the  kings  anger  should  fall  on  me,  I  will 
take  myself  out  of  t'lie  way  directly." 

'•No,  no,  Monsieur  Piiili;),  that 'won't  do  ex- 
actly," answered  the  servant.  "  You  do  not  know 
how  fond  my  mister  is  of  you  ;  and  so  concern- 
ed is  he  for  your  safety,  tliat  he  must  be  always 
sure  of  it,  and  therefore  has  given  us  command 
to  let  you  stay  in  the    Bastille  for  a  fewda\s" 

At  that  one  word  Bastille,  Philip's  iiiiigimtion 
set  to  WArk,  and  instantly  conjured  up  the  image 
of  a  huge  tower  of  red  copper,  somewhat  mouldy, 
standing  on  t!ie  lop  of  a  high  mountain,  and 
guarded  by  seven  huge  giants  with  but  one  eye 
apiece,  and  the  I'ke  nuniuer  of  Hery  dragons  with 
more  teeth  and  claws  than  would  have  served  a 
dozen.-  If  it  was  not  exactly  this,  it  was  some- 
thing very  like  it  3  for  Pliilip,  whose  travels  had 
never  extended  a  league  beyond  the  wood  of 
Mantes,  knevv  as  much  about  the  Bastille  as  Saint 
Augusliu  did  of  Heaven, — so  both  drew  from 
their  own  fancy  for  want  of  belter  materials. 

However,  the  purse  which  Chavigni's  attendants 
gave. him  in  behalf  of  their  master,  for  they  dared 
not  withhold  his  bounty,  however  much  they 
might  be  inclined,  greatly  allayed  tiie  feurs  of  the 
wooflman. 

There  is  sometliing  won-derfully  consolatory  in 
the  chink  of  gold  at  all  tin\es  5  but  ni  llit;  present 
instance,  Philip  drew  fr jiu  it  the  comf(.ri.ablc  con- 
clusion, that  they  could  not  mean  him  any  great 


222  RlCHELIEtU 

Jiarm  when  they  sent  him  money.  ''  I  know  not 
what  to  think.  '  cried  he. 

•'  Why.  tliiiik  it  is  exactly  as  I  tell  you/'  replied 
the  pervant.  '■  and  thai  t!ie  count  means  yriu  uell. 
Butafleryoa  iiave  I' ought  as  much  as  you  like, 
get  ready  to  come  witli  us,  for  we  liave  no  time 
to  spare.'' 

'J'his  was  the  worst  part  of  the  whole  business. 
Pliilip  had  now  to  lake  leave  of  liis  good  dame 
Joan,  whic!i,  like  a  well-arranged  sermon,  consis- 
ted of  three  distinct  parts ;  he  had  first  to  wake 
lier,  then  to  make  her  compehend,  and  then  to  en- 
dure her  lamentation. 

The  iirst  two  were  labks  of  some  difficulty,  for 
Joan  slept  tolerably  well — that  is  to  say,  you  might 
have  fired  a  cannon  at  her  ear  without  making  her 
hear — and  when  she  was  awake,  her  understand- 
ing did  not  become  particularly  pellucid  for  at  least 
an  hour  after.  This  on  ordinary  occasions — but  on 
the  present  Philip  kbourcd  hard  to  make  her  mind 
take  in  tliat  lie  was  arrested  and  going  to  the  Bas- 
tille. But  finding  that  her  sense  were  siill  some- 
what obdu-ate.  and  that  she  did  nothing  but  rub 
her  exes,  and  stretch  and  yawn  in  his  fice,  he  had 
recourse  to  the  s;;xiie  means  morally,  which  he 
would  have  used  physically  to  cleave  an  oak  ; 
namely,  he  kept  shouting"  to  her,  ''  Bastille  .' 
Bastille  I  Basiiile  !"  reiterating  the  word  upon  her 
ear,  just  in  the  saiue  manner  that  he  wou'd  have 
plied  the  timber  with  his  axe. 

At  length  she  comprehended  it  all.  Her  eve 
glanced  from  the  inner  room  upon  the  unwonted 
gucsis  who  occupied  the  other  chamber,  and  then 
to  the  dismayed  countenance  of  her  husband  ; 
and  divining  it  suddenly,  she  threw  lier  arms 
round  ihe  athletic  form  of  tlje  woodman,  burst- 
ing into  a  passion  of  tears,  and  declaring  that  he 
should  not  leave  her. 

Of  course,  on  all  such  occasions  there  must 
follow  a  very  tender  scene  between  husband  and 
Hife,  and  such  there  was  in  the  present  instance  : 


RICHELIEU  223 

only  Joan,  availing  herself  *f  one  especial  privi- 
lege  of  the  fair  sex,  did  not  fail,  between  iier 
bursts  of  tears  and  sobs,  to  rail  loudly  at  the  car- 
dinal, the  king,  and  all  belonging  to  iliem,  talking 
more  high  treason  in  fj\e  minutes,  than  would 
have  cost  any  man  an  hour  to  compose  ;  nor  did 
she  spare  even  the  exempts,  or  tiie  two  gentlemen 
in  Isabel  and  silver,  but  poured  forth  her  indig- 
nation upon  all  alike. 

However,  as  all  things  must  come  to  an  end, 
60  did  this  J  and  Piiilip  was  carried  away  amid 
the  vain  entreaties  his  wife  at  length  condescend- 
ed to  use. 

The  only  difficulty  which  remained  was,  howr 
to  mount  their  prisoner,  having  all  forgot  to 
bring  a  horse  from  Meiilan  for  tiiat  purpose  ;  and 
Philip,  not  choosing  to  facilitate  his  own  remov- 
al by  telling  thorn  that  he  had  a  mule  in  the 
stable. 

However  it  was  at  length  agreed,  that  one  of 
the  exempts  should  walk  to  the  next  tow^n,  and 
that  Philip  should  mount  his  horse  lill  another 
could  be  obt.utied.  As  the  parly  turned  avvay 
from  the  hut,  tlie  chief  servant,  somewhat  moved 
by  the  unceasing  tears  of  Joan,  took  upon  him 
to  say  that  he  was  sure  that  ("harles  the  wood- 
man's son,  wlio  stood  with  his  mother  at  the 
door,  would  be  permitted  to  see  his  father  in  the 
B.istiile,  if  they  would  all  agree  to  say.  that  they 
did  not  know  what  was  become^  of  him,  in  case 
any  impertinent  person  inquirir.g  for  him  during 
his  absence. 

Tiiis  they  all  consented  to,  their  grief  being 
somewhat  moderated  by  llie  prospect  of  commu- 
nicating with  each  other,  although  separated; 
and  Philip  once  more  having  bid  his  wife  and 
clijlJron  adieu,  was  carried  on  to  a  little  village, 
Where  a  horse  being  procured  for  liim.  the  wlude 
parry  took  the  road  to  Marly,  and  thence  proceed- 
ed to  Paris  Vr'ith  all  possible  diligence. 

Pay  had  long  dawned    before  they  rsached  the 


224  RICHELIEU. 

Bastille,  and  Philip,  who  was  now  excessively  tired, 
never  l.nving  riildeu  linlf  the  way  in  hi?  life.  w;is  ac- 
tuallv  q;ln(l  to  arrive  at  the  priso  \.  u  !.i;  i,  he  liad  pre- 
viously conteinplated  with  sn  much  horror. 

Here  lie  was  (ielivere.i,  wiili  x\\e'lMrc  da  catchH, 
anil  Cliuvigiii'sn"ie,lo  t!ie  [fovenior  j  and  the  serv- 
ant airniii,  ill  his  own  henriiig,  recomniPndpd  t..at  lie 
should  he  treateil  wifi  all  ima^Mnahle  kindnesa.and 
allowed  every  liberty  consistent  with  his  safe  cus- 
tody. 

Ail  this  convrnced  the  woodcutter,  as  \ve!l  as  the 
conversation  he  had  heard  on  the  road,  that  Chavig- 
ni  really  meant  well  hy  him  ;  and  without  any  of  those 
more  refined  feelings,  whirh,  however  they  may 
sometimes  open  tlie  gates  of  the  heart  to  the  purest 
joys,  but  tnofifien  betray  the  fortress  of  the  breast  to 
the  direst  pains,  he  now  felt  comparatively  sccnre, 
and  gave  up  at  the  missy  walls  and  towers  of  the  Bas- 
tille with  awe  indeed,  but  awe  not  unmingled  with 
admiration. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Which  shows  tliat  'Jiidcms  are  »iot  wiljjoiit  iheii  t.Korn?. 


This  shall  be  a  short  chapter  I  am  detej-mined  ; 
because  ri  is  one  of  the  most  important  in  the  whole 
book. 

During  the  absence  o['  the  king  and  Chnvigni  in 
the  ciiase.  two  arrivals  hari  taken  place  at  Chanlilly 
very  nearly  at  the  same  moment.  Luckily,  ho-.vever, 
the  queen  haii  just  time  toaiiaht  Irotn  her  carriage 
and  seek  her  apaitments    beibre  tlie  Cardinal    do 


RiciiELiErn.  225 

Ilichelieu  entered  the  court-yard  j  thus  avoiding  an 
interview  with  her  deadly  enemy  on  the  very  thres- 
hold— an  interview  from  which  she  might  well  have 
dravMn  an  inauspicious  augury,  without  even  the 
charge  of  superstition. 

As  soon  as  Chavigni  had  (as  far  as  possible)  pro- 
vided for  Ills  own  safety  by  despatching  the  order  for 
Philip's  arrest,  lie  proceeded  to  the  apartments  of 
R.ichclieu,and  tliere  he  gave  that  minister  an  exact 
account  of  all  he  had  hear  .  observed,  and  done  ; 
commenting  particularly  upon  the  violent  and  irasci- 
ble mood  of  the  king,  and  ihe  advantages  which 
miglit  be  tlicnce  derived,  i  they  could  turn  his  an- 
ger in  the  direction  tint  they  wished. 

In  the  mean  while  Louis  proceeded  to  the  apart- 
ments of  the  queen — not  indeed  hurried  on  by  any 
great  atlection  for  his  wife,  but  desirous  of  seeing 
his  children,  whom  he  sincerely  loved,  notwith- 
standing the  unaccountable  manner  in  which  he  so 
frequently  absented  himself  from  them. 

JNever  very  attentive  to  dress,  Louis  the  Thir- 
teenth, when  any  thing  disturbed  or  irritated  him, 
neglected  entirely  the  ordinary  care  of  his  person. 
In  the  present  iubtance  h.e  made  no  change  in  his 
apparel,  although  the  sports  in  which  he  had  been 
engaged  had  not  left  it  in  a  very  fit  state  to  grace  a 
drawjng-roam.  Thus,  in  a  pair  of  immense  jack- 
boots, lAa  hat  pressed  dc-v/n  upon  his  brows,  and  his 
whole  dress  soiied,  deranged,  and  covered  with 
dust,  he  presented  himself  in  the  saloon  where  Anne 
of  A'.^stria  sat  surrounded  by  the  young  princes  and 
the  ladies  v.ho  had  accimpanied  her  to  Chantilly. 

The  queen  immediately  ro.»e  to  receive  her  hus- 
band, and  advanced  towards  him  with  an  air  of  gen- 
tle kindness,  mixed,  however,  with  some  degree  of 
apprehension  ;  for  to  her  eyes,  long  accustomed  to 
remark  the  various  changes  of  his  temper,  the  dis- 
array of  his  apparel  plainly  indicated  the  irritation 
ofliis  mir:d. 

Louis  saluted  her  but  coldly,  and  without  taking 


226  nCHfe'llKti- 

off  his  hat.  ''  I  am  glad  to  see  yoa  well,  mndam/* 
said  lie,  anH  passed  on  to  the  nurse  who  held  in  her 
ariiss  i!ie  young  dauphin. 

T:ie  cliiiiJ  Ii.kI  uoi  seen  its  father  fnriome  wcpks, 
and  MOW  percoivin;^  a  rLide-!«'oi»)iig.  iil-tiresseii  rnan 
approachiOJ:  lia-tily  tow  nis  it,  became  friglilened, 
hid  its  lace  on  the  i:ursc*s  shoulder,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

Tile  rage  of  the  king  now  broke  the  bounds  of 
common  decency. 

'•  H.i!"'*  esclaimed  he,  stamping  on  the  ground 
•with  his  heavy  boot,  till  the  wiiole  aparlnient  rang  : 
"is  it  so.  roadain  ?  Do  you  teach  my  children  al- 
so to  dislike  their  father  /  ' 

*  No,  ray  lord,  no,  ii>.!eed  I''  replied  Ann-:  of  Aus- 
tria. i;j  a  tone  of  deep  distress,  seeing  liiis  ui.forlu- 
m-e  contrderRs  so  strangely  misconstrued  to  her 
disadvantage.  "  1  neither  ieach  the  child  to  dis- 
like you,  nor  (iocs  he  dislike  you  ;  hut  you  approach- 
ed Louis  hastily,  and  with  your  hat  finppcd  over 
your  eyes,  so  that  lie  does  not  know  you.  Coji.e 
hither.' Louis,"  she  coiitinued.  taking  the  dauphin 
out  of  the  nurse'a  a-ms.  "It  is  your  father;  do 
not  you  know  him  1  Have  I  not  always  told  you  to 
love  him  V 

The  dauphin  looked  at  his  moih.er,  and  then  at 
the  king  j  and  perfectly  old  enough  to  comprehend 
what  she  said,  he  began  to  recognise  his  father,  and 
held  out  his  little  anus  towards  him.  But  Louis 
turned  angrily  av.av. 

"  A  fine  lesson  of  dissimulation  T'  he  exclaimed  ; 
and  advanced  towards  his  second  son,  who  then 
bore  the  title  of  Duke  of  Anjou.  "'Ah.  my  little 
Piiilip,'"  he  continued,  as  the  infa't  received  him 
with  a  placid  smile  ;  "you  arc  not  old  enough  to 
nave  learned  any  of  these  arts.  You  can  love  \our 
fatier  without  being  told  to  show  it,  like  an  ape  at 
a  puppet-show."' 

At  this  new  attack  tiie  qu«en  burst  into  tears. 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  my  lord,"  she  said,  "  you  wrong 
me.    oh,  Louis !  how   you  might  have  made  m« 


RICHELIEU.  22T 

love  you  once !"  and  her  tears  redoubled  at  the 
thought  of  the  past.  "  But  I  am  a  wealc  fool,''  she 
contiiiiied,  uiping  the  drops  from  her  eyes,  "  to 
feel  s<»  sensibly  what  I  rio  not  deserve;  at  present 
your  majesty  does  me  deep  injustice,  i  liav.:  al- 
ways tauglit  both  my  children  to  love  and  respect 
their  fith  r.  Tha*  name  is  the  first  word  that  they 
learn  to  pronounce  ;  ar.d  from  me  they  leani  to 
pr<'n<  tince  it  with  aH'cciinn.  But  oh,  my  liege  ! 
what  will  ihese  dear  children  think  in  after  years, 
when  they  see  their  father  behave  to  their  mother 
as  ynur  majesty  does  towards  me?'' 

'"•  Pshaw  !'  exclaimed  the  IcinT.  "  let  us  have  no 
jnore  of  all  this.  I  hate  these  scenes  of  altercation. 
Fear  not,  madam  ;  the  time  will  come  when  these 
children  will  learn  to  appreciate  us  both  thorough- 
ly." 

"  I  hope  not,  my  lord,"  replied  the  queen,  fer- 
vently ;  "  I  hope  not.  From  me.  at  least,  they  shall 
never  learn  all  1  have  to  complain  of  in  their  fath- 
er." 

Had  Anne  of  Austria  reflected,  she  would  have 
been  silent;  but  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  refrain 
when  urged  by  taunts  and  unmerited  reproach. 
That   excellent  vial  of  water  wiiich    the    lairy  be- 


stowed   upon    the    unhappy   wife   is  not    always  at 

impede  the  utterance  of  rejoinders,  whic 
like  rejoinders  in  the  coiut  of  chancery,  only  serve 


to  urge  on  the  strife  a  degree  further,  whether  they 
be  right  or  wrong.  In  tiie  present  case  the  king's 
pale  countenance  flushed  with  anger.  "  Beware, 
madam,  beware  I'  exclaimed  he.  "You  have  al- 
ready been  treated  with  too  much  lenity  :  remem- 
ber the  aflair  of  Chnlais  !" 

"  Well,  sir  1"  replied  t!iie  queen,  raising  her  head 
with  an  air  of  dignity,  ♦•  your  majesty  knows,  and 
feels,  and  has  snid  that  I  am  perfectly  guiltless  of 
that  miserable  plot.  My  lord,  my  lord  !  if  you  can 
lay  your  head  upon  your  pillow  conscious  of  inno- 
cence like  mine,  you  will  sleep  well ;  my  bosom  at 
least  is  clear." 


228  RICHELIE17. 

"  See  tfiot  it  be,  madam,"  replied  Louis,  dartiag^ 
upon  her  one  of  ilioso  fiery  and  terrible  glnnccs  in 
which  the  whole  vindictive  soul  of  his  Italian  moth- 
fir  blazeii  forth  in  his  eyes  \vith  the  ^iare  of  a  l.asil- 
li-k.  '•  See  iliat  it  be.  madam  ;  for  there  li.ay  come 
worse  cliarj  s  thauthat  a^'ai-ist  you.  !  ha\e  learn- 
ed from  a  sure  soun-.e  that  a  Spaniard  is  seeking  my 
overthrow,  and  a  wom.n  is  plotting  my  ruin,"  he 
continued,  repealing  the  words  of  tlie  astrologer  ; 
"  tiiat  a  prince  is  scheniing  my  destruction,  and  a 
queen  is  betraying  my  trust  :  so,  see  that  your  bos- 
om be  clear,  madam."  Arid  passmg  quickly  by  her, 
he  Lft  the  apartment  exclaimiiig  ioua  enoiuh  for 
a'l  within  it  to  hear,  "  Where  is  his  eminence  of 
Richelieu  ?  Some  one  give  him  notice  that  the 
king  desires  his  presence  when  he  Las  leisure."' 

A(ine  of  Austria  clasped  her  hands  in  silence  and 
looked  up  to  heaven  seemed  tor  a  moment  to  peti- 
tion for  support  under  the  new  afEictions  she  saw 
ready  to  fall  upon  her,  and  then  v.ichou'.  a  comment 
on  t:ie  painful  scene  tunl  had  just  passed,  returned 
to  her  ordinary  employments. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


Co:»t.^iiiii)5  a  great  m.^f>y  {hin55  not  more  cinious  and  intrre»l 
'  iiig  liu'.n  IriK. 

I.v  the  old  Chfiteau  of  Chanlilly  was  a  long  gal- 
lery, u  l.ich  went  hy  the  name  of  the  Covrs  mix  ccrfs, 
from  the  liumber  of  stags'  heads  which  appeared 
curiously  sculptured  upon  tl.e  frieze.  wiM  their 
long  Iranchnig  horns  projecting  from  the  wab.  and 
so  Jar  exteiided  on  L-  )ih  sides  as  to  cross  eatli  other 
and  form  an  extraoroinary  sort  of  trellis-vi'ork  archi- 
tiave  before  they  reached  the  ceinng. 

The  windows  of  this  gallery  were   far  apart  and 


RlCHELirR  229 

tiarrow,  admitting  but  little  liglit  ipto  the  interior, 
which,  being  (if  a  dingy  stone  colour,  could  hardlj 
have  been  rendered  cl:rerrtil,  -even  by  Uie  brightest 
sunshine}  butv\liich,  both  frcm  the  smailness  of 
the  windows  and  the  projection  of  a  hifih  tower  on 
the  otiicr  side  (if  tlie  court,  was  kept  in  coniinual 
shadow,  except  when  in  llie  lr»nges^t  days  of  sum- 
mer the  sun  just  passed  the  angle  of  the  opposite 
building  and  ilirew  a  parting  gleam  through  il,e  last 
window,  witht'rawn  cs  quickly  as  bestow«.L 

But  at  tl.e  ti^r.e  I  ppe:-'k  f.  namely,  two  days  after 
the  queen's  arrival  at  Chontilly,  no  such  cheering 
ray  f<  und  entrance.  It  seemed,  indeed,  (j  tit  place 
for  melancholy  imaginings  5  and  to sucl:  sad  purpose 
had  Anno  -ol  Austria  appiied  it.  For  some  t;me  she 
had  leen  standing  at  one  of  the  windows,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  Madame  do  Beaumont,  and  silently 
gazing  with  abstracted  tlioug'/its  upon  the  open  case- 
«ients  of  the  corridor  on  the  oilier  side,  when  the 
figures  of  Richelieu  and  Chavigni,  passing  by  one  of 
them,  in  their  full  robes,  caught  iiereye;  and  with- 
drawing from  the  conspicuous  situation  rn  which 
she  was  |)laced,  she  remarked  to  the  marchioness 
«hat  s.'ie  had  seen,  and  observed  that  th^y  irust  be 
going  to  the  council-chamber. 

Thus  began  a  conversation  which  soon  turned  to 
the  k-ing  and  to  his  strange  conduct,  which  ever 
since  their  arrival  had  continued  in  an  increasing 
drain  t>f  petulance  and  ill-temper. 

'  Indeed,  madam,"  said  the  AJarchionessde  Beau- 
mont, ''your  majesty's  gentleness  is  misapplied. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  urge  aught  against  my  King  j 
but  there  be  srnie  dispositions  which  require  10 
have  iheir  vehemence  olipcked  and  repelled  ;  and 
it  is  well  also  for  themselves  when  they  meet  with 
one  who  will  oppose  them  fiimly  and  l^oldly."' 

"  Perha[!s,  De  Bcr.um<mt/'  replied  the  queen,  "  if 
I  hoU  taken  (hat  rcsuise  many  \ears  ago.  ii  might 
have  produced  a  happy  ePect  ;  but  now,  alas!  it 
would  be  in  vain  ;  and  God  knows  whether  it  would 
have  succeeded  even  then  J" 


8^0  RrCHLLlEU: 

As  she  spoke,  the  door  of  the  gallery  opened,  and 
an  officer  of  the  council  appeared,  notilying  the 
queen  that  his  innjesly  the  Uirg  demanded  her  pres- 
ence ill  the  councd-chaniber. 

Aone  of  Austria  turned  to  iMadnms  de  Beaumont 
with  a  look  of  melancholy  I'orebodiug.  **  More, 
more,  more  still  to  enduse.  '  she  said  :  and  then 
added,  addressing  the  officer,  '•  His  majesty's  com- 
mmils  shiU  bei!st:intly  obeyed  ;  so  inform  iiini,sir- 
De  Beau  no:u,  tell  M  idesnoiselle  de  Hiuteford  that 
I  shall  he  ghd  of  her  assistance  too.  You  will  go 
wilh  tne.  of  course." 

Mademoiselle  de  Haut^ford  instantly  came  at  the 
qunen's  comni.md,  and  af  proaching  her  with  a  sweet 
aiiJ  placid  smile,  siid  a  few  words  of  comfort  to  her 
royal  mistress,  in  so  kind  and  gentle  a  manner  that 
the  tears  rose  m  the  eyes  of  Anne  of  Austria. 

"  De  Hiuteford  I"  said  she,  '•  1  f«el  a  presenti- 
ment that  we  shall  soon  part,  and  therefore  1  sprak 
to  you  now  of  what  I  never  spoke  before.  1  know 
how  much  I  have  to  thank  you  for — I  know  how 
much  you  have  rejected  for  my  sake — the  love  of  a 
king  would  have  fnund  few  to  refuse  it.  You  have 
done  so  for  my  sake,  and  you  will  have  your  re- 
ward." 

The  eloquent  blood  spread  suddenly  over  -the 
beautiful  countenance  of  the  lady  of  honour. 
"Spare  me.  spare  me,  your  majesty,''  cried  she, 
kissing  the  hand  the  queen  held  out  to  her.  "  I 
thought  that  secret  had  been  hidden  in  n^y  bosom 
alone.  But  oh.  let  me  hope  that,  even  had  it  not 
been  for  my  love  for  your  majesty,  I  could  siili 
have  resisted.  Yes!  yes!"  continued  she.  clasp- 
ing her  hands,  and  murmuring  to  herself  the  name 
of  a  higher  and  holier  king,  "yes!  yes!  I  could 
have  resisted  !' 

The  unusual  energy  with  which  the  beaatiful 
girl  sp  >i.e.  on  all  ordinary  occasions  so  colm  and 
imperturbable,  showed  tne  queen  hov/ deeply  her 
heart  had  taken  part  in  that  to  which  she  alluded  ; 
and  perhaps  female  curiosity  might  have  led  her  to 


HfLll-LlEU.  2S1 

prolong  the  theme,  though  a  painful  one  to  both 
p.irties,  liad  nt  t  tlia  summons  of  the  king  leqaired 
her  immediate  altr;!iti-)n. 

As  ti'.ey  api-.roaclicd  ihe  council  chamber,  Mad- 
ame (!e  Beaumont  observed  llial  Ike  queen's  steps 
wavf.-ed. 

•'  Take  courage,  madam,"  said  she.  "  For  H<^rtv- 
en's  sike,  c;til  up  spirit  to  cany  you  through,  what- 
ever mty  occur." 

"  Fear  not,  De  Beaumo);t,"  replied  the  queen, 
th')uj!i  her  ibiie  beiraycil  ihe  apprehension  she  (elt. 

•'  'I'iiey  s!ia!i  ste  that  they  caimot  friahten  me." 

At  liiat  momeul  trie  huiisier  threw  open  the  door 
of  the  councilciiamuer,  and  the  queen  with  her  la- 
die-!  eni^fed,  and  fojnd  them>elvfjs  in  ihe  presence 
of  he  kin?  and  ail  his  principal  ministers.  In  the 
centre  of  liie  room,  strewed  v/it'i  various  papers  and 
materials  lor  wriliaj.  stood  a  long  table,  at  the  top 
of  which,  in  a  seat  slightly  raised  above  rl'.e  rest, 
sit  Louis  himself  (iressed  as  was  usual  with  him, 
in  a  suit  of  black  silk,  without  any  ornament  what- 
ever, except  three  rows  of  sugar-loaf  buttons  of 
polished  jet, — if  these  could  he  considered  as  orna- 
mental. His  hat,  indeed,  which  he  -lontinued  to 
xveir,  was  looped  up  with  a  small  string  of  jewels  ; 
and  the  feather,  which  fell  much  on  one  side,  was 
buttoned  wiih  a  diamond  of  some  value  ;  but  these 
were  the  only  indicatituis  by  which  his  apparel  could 
have  been  distinguished  from  that  ol  some  poor 
avoMe,  or  grcffier  da  la  coiir. 

Oil  the  ri'.'ht-hand  of  the  k'ng  was  placed  the  Car- 
dinal de  llichelieu,  in  liis  robe  ;  and  on  Ihe  left, 
was  tiie  Chancellor  Seguier.  Bouthilliers,  Chavig- 
ni,  Miz-uin.  and  other  members  of  the  council,  fill- 
ed the  rest  of  the  seats  around  the  table  ;  but  at 
the  farther  end  was  a  vacant  space,  in  fiont  of 
which  thr«  queen  now  presented  herself,  facing  the 
chair  of  the  king. 

There  was  an  angry  spot  on  Louis's  brow,  and  as 
Anne  of  Austria  entered,  he  continued  playing  with 
the  hilt  of  his  sword,  without  once  raising  his  eyes 


23a  KKiiKLlKV. 

towards  her.  The  queen's  heart  sank,  but  still  she 
bore  an  undismayed  countenance,  while  the  cardi- 
nal fixed  upon  her  the  full  glance  of  his  daik  com- 
manding eyes,  and  rising  from  his  seat,  slightly  in- 
clined his  head  at  her  approach. 

The  rest  of  the  council  rose,  and  Chavigni  turned 
away  his  eyes,  with  an  ill-defined  sensation  of  pain 
and  regret;  but  the  mure  subtle  Mazarin,  ever 
watchful  to  court  good  opinion,  whether  for  present 
or  for  future  purposes,  glided  quietly  round,  and 
placed  a  chair  for  her  at  the  table.  It  was  an  ac- 
tion not  forgotten  in  after  days. 

A  moment's  pause  ensued.  .-\s  soon  as  the  queen 
was  seated,  Richelieu  glanced  his  eye  towards  the 
countenance  of  the  king,  as  if  to  inMSa|te  him  to 
open  the  business  of  the  day  :  but  LoCui^  attention 
was  deeply  engaged  in  his  sword-not,  or  at  least 
Beemed  to  be  so,  and  the  cardinal  was  at  length 
forced  to  proceed  himself. 

"  Your  majesty's  presence  has  been  desired  by 
the  king,  who  is  like  a  God  injustice  and  in  equity," 
said  Richelieu,  proceeding  in  that  bold  and  tiguara- 
tive  style,  in  which  all  his  public  addresses  were 
conceived,  "  in  order  to  enable  you  to  cast  off,  like 
a  raiment  that  has  been  soiled  by  a  fuul  touch,  the 
accusations  which  have  been  secreily  made  against 
you,  and  to  explain  some  part  of  your  conduct, 
which,  as  clouds  between  the  earth,  and  the  sun, 
have  come  between  yourself  and  your  royal  hus- 
band, iotercepiing  the  beams  of  his  princely  appro, 
bation.  All  this  your  majesty  can  doubtless  do,  and 
the  king  has  permitted  the  council  to  hear  your 
exculpation  from  your  own  lips,  that  we  may  tram- 
ple under  our  feet  the  foul  suspicions  that  appear 
against  you." 

'•  Lord  Cardinal/'  replied  the  queen,  calmly  but 
firmly,  '•  I  wonder  at  the  boldness  of  your  language. 
Remember,  sir,  whom  it  is  that  you  thus  presume 
to  address — the  wife  of  your  sovereign,  sir.  who  sits 
there,  bound  to  protect  her  from  insult  and  from  in> 
jury." 


UICHELIEC.  233 

'■  Cease,  cease,  madam  '."  cried  Louis,  breaking 
silence.  "  First  prove  yoiirseil' innocent,  and  tlien 
Uee  the  high  lone  of  innocence,  if  you  will.''" 

"To  you,  my  lord,"  repi  ed  tlie  queen,  "lam 
ready  to  answer  every  thintf,  truly  and  faitlifully  as 
a  good  wife,  a!:d  a  good  subject'5  but  not  to  that 
audacious  vassal,  wlio,  in  rpjiressinii  and  insulting 
me,  bill  d'.fgrades  your  authority  and  weakens  your 
power." 

''  Spare  your  invectives,  madam,"  said  the  cardi- 
nal, calmly.  "  for,  if  I  be  not  much  mistaken,  before 
you  leave  this  chamber,  you  will  be  obliged  10  ack- 
nowledge all^that  is  coniaiaed  in  the  pnper  before 
you  5  in  which  case,  the  bad  opinion  of  your  majes- 
ty would  h^as  the  roar  of  idle  wind,  that  hurleth 
not  them"neT  on  shore." 

'•  My  lord  and  sovereign,"  said  the  queen,  ad- 
dressing Louis,  without  deigning  to  notice  the  car- 
dinal, '-it  seems  that  some  evil  is  laid  to  my  charge; 
will  you  condescend  to  info.'-m  nie  of  what  crime  I 
am  accused  that  now  calls  your  majesty's  angf  r  up- 
on me  ?  If  loving  you  too  well. — if  liMuenting  your 
frequent  absence  from  me. — if  gi\ing  my  whole 
time  and  care  to  your  children,  be  no  crimes,  tell 
me  mv  lord,  tell  me  what  I  have  done." 

"  What  you  have  done,  madam,  is  easily  told," 
exclaimed  Louis,  his  eyes  flashing  hre.  "  Cive  me 
that  p.tper,  Lord  Cardinal  3  ami  passing  hastily  from 
article  to  article  of  its  contents,  he  continued  : 
"Have  you  not,  contrary  to  my  express  command, 
and  the  command  of  the  council,  corresponded  with 
Philip  of  Spain  ?  Have  you  not  played  the  spy  up- 
on the  plans  of  my  government,  and  caused  the 
defeat  of  my  armies'  in  Flanders,  the  losses  of  the 
Proieslanls  in  German,y.  the  failure  of  all  our 
schemes  in  Italy,  by  the  information  you  have  con- 
veyed ?  Have  you  not  written  to  Don  Francisco  de 
Mello,  and  your  cousin  the  archduke  ?  Have  you 
not — '' 

"  Never,  never  !"  exclaimed  the  queen,  claspkij 
ber  hands,  "  never,  so  help  me  Heaven  !*' 


234  RICHELIEU. 

"  What!''  cried  Louis,  dashing  tlie  paper  angrily 
upon  llie  tab!e.  '•  Direst  thou  deny  what  is  ns  evi- 
dent as  the  sun  in  ll:e  noonday  skv  ?  Beniemher, 
ni:\dain.  tiiul your  luiuion,  De  Blenau,  is  iii  the  Bas- 
tiile.and  will  sc.on  forfeit  iiis  life  upon  ihe  s-  u'ibid, 
if  I. is  obstinacy  docs  not  maUe  hi-.a  die  under  the 
question.'- 

'For  poor  De  Blenau's  sr;ke,  niv  lord,"  replitil 
the  queen. —  '  fi)r  the  sake  of  as  no'  lo,  and  as  iiino- 
cent  a  man  as  ever  was  the  victim  of  tyranny,  I  will 
tell  you  at  once,  that  I  have  written  to  Philip  of 
Spaiti — my  own  dear  brother.  And  who  cnn  hlaukc 
inc.  my  lord,  for  loving  one  who  has  always  loved 
me  ?  But  I  knew  my  duty  betier  than  ever  f>nce 
to  mention  even  the  little  that  1  kncwg^he  |)ublic 
affairs  of  tiiis  kingdom  :  and  fir  ie^s,  '^mr  majesty, 
did  I  pry  into  secret  plans  of  state  policy  for  the 
purpose  of  divulging  them.  My  letters,  my  lord, 
were  V, holly  domestic.  I  spoke  of  myself,  of  my 
husband,  of  my  children)  I  spoke  as  a  worn  m,  a 
wife,  and  a  m-ithef  ;  but  never,  my  lord,  as  a  queen  3 
and  never,  never  as  a  spy. 

'•  As  to  De  Blenau,  my  lord,  let  me  assure  you, 
that  before  he  undertook  to  tcrward  those  letters, 
he  exncled  from  me  a  promise,  that  tliey  should 
never  contain  any  thing  which  could  impeach  his 
honour  or  his  1'  ynlty.  This.  "  y  lord,  is  all  my 
crime,  and  this  is  the  extent  of  his." 

There  was  a  de'^ree  ofs-impliciiy  and  truih  in  the 
manner  of  the  queen  which  operated  strongly  on 
the  mind  of  Louis.  •'  But  who."  said  he,  '  will 
vouch  that  those  letters  contained  nothing  treason- 
able ?  We  have  but  your  word,  madam  ;  and  you 
well  know  that  we  are  at  war  wiUi  Spain,  and  can- 
not procure  a  si^ht  of  tlie  originaU." 

'"  Lucki'y."  replied  Anne  of  Austria,  her  counte- 
nancH  briy::tening  with  a  ray  of  hope,  '•  they  have  all 
been  ri-ad  by  one  whrm  vour  majesty  yourself  re- 
commended to  my  friendship.  Clara  de  Hauteford, 
you   have  seen  them  all.     Speak  !     Tell    the   king 


RICHKLIEU.  235 

the  nature  of  their  contents  without  fear  and  with- 
out favour.'' 

iMadernoiselle  de  Hnut  ford  advanced  fro-n  be- 
hind tlie  qufen's  rliair ;  and  tlie  king,  who,  it  was 
genernlly  believed,  hid  once  passionately  loved  her, 
but  had  met  wiih  no  return,  n<iw  tixed  h  s  eyes  in- 
tend upon  the  ])Tie,  be  lutil'ul  crentiire  that,  scarce- 
ly like  a  being  of  the  earth,  glided  silently  forward 
and  placed  herself  directly  oppo.^ite  to  him.  Clara 
de  Haiiielbrd  was  d^^volediy  attached  In  the  queen. 
Whether  it  sprang  from  t>  at  sense  of  duty  which  in 
general  governed  all  her  actions,  or  whether  it  was 
personal  attachment,  matters  little,  as  the  effect 
was  the  same,  and  she  would  at  no  time  iiave  con- 
Bidered  her  life  too  great  a  sacrifice  to  the  interest 
of  her  mistress. 

She  advanced  then  uefore  the  council,  knowing 
that  the  happiness,  if  not  the  life  of  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria, might  depend  upon  her  answer  5  and  clasping 
her  snowy  hands  together,  she  raised  her  eyes  to- 
wards heaven,  "  So  Jielp  me  God  at  my  utmost 
need  ''  she  said,  with  a  clear,  slow,  energetic  utter- 
ance, *•  no  tine  that  I  have  ever  seen  of  her  majes- 
ty's writing — and  I  believe  I  have  seen  almost  all 
•he  has  written  within  the  last  five  years — no  line 
that  I  have  seen,  ever  spoke  any  thing  but  the 
warmest  attachment  to  mv  lord  the  king;  nor  did 
any  ever  contain  the  slightest  allusion  to  the  poli- 
tics of  this  kingdom,  but  were  confined  entirely  to 
the  subject  of  her  domestic  life; — nor  even  then," 
she  continued,  dropping  her  full  blue  eyes  to  the 
countenance  of  the  king,  and  fixing  them  there, 
with  a  calm,  serious,  dftermined  gaze,  which  over- 
powered the  glance  of  the  monarch,  and  made  his 
eyelid  fall — •'  nor  even  then  did  they  ever  touch 
upon  her  domestic  sorrows." 

Richelieu  saw  that  the  king  was  moved  :  he  knew 
also  the  influence  of  Ma  'emoiselle  de  Hau'eford, 
and  he  instantly  resolved  upon  crushing  her  by  one 
of  those  bold  acts  of  power  which  he  had  so  often 
attempted  with  impunity.    Nor  had  he  much  hesi- 


2S6  BICIILLILIL 

tation  in  the  present  instance,  knowins:  that  Louis's 
superstitious  belief  in  the  piec'iv^tions  of  the  astrolo- 
ger ])f\d  pliu;ed  the  moi.nrch's  mind  comnletelv  tin- 
der his  dominion.  "  MademoiseKe  de  Hnulet\>rd," 
said  he,  in  a  stern  voire,  *•  answer  nie.  Have  you 
seen  all  the  letters  that  tiie  q!:cen  has  written  to 
her  brother  Piiilip  King  of  Spain,  positively  know- 
ing tiieni  to  be  such  ? '" 

•'  So  please  your  eminence,  I  have,"  replied 
Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford. 

"  Well  tlien,"  said  Richelieu,  rising  haughtily 
from  his  cliair  while  he  spoke,  "  in  so  doing  you 
have  committed  misprision  of  treason,  and  are 
therefore  banished  from  this  court  a  d  kin-jdoni  for 
ever;  and  if  within  sixteen  davs  from  lliis  present 
you  have  not  removed  yourself  from  the  precincts 
of  the  realm,  you  shail  be  c"onsidered  guilty  olhigli 
treason,  and  arrni:rned  as  such,  inasmuch  as, accord- 
ing to  your  own  confession,  you  have  knowingly 
and  wilfully,  after  a  decree  in  council  against  it, 
concealed  and  abetteti  a  correspondence  belwren 
persons  within  the  kingdom  of  France,  and  a  power 
declaredly  its  enemy." 

As  the  cardinal  uttered  his  sentence  in  a  firm, 
deep,  commanding  voice,  the  king,  w  ho  had  at  first 
listened  to  ;.im  with  a  look  of  surprise,  and  perhaps 
of  anger,  soon  began  to  feel  the  habitual  supericTi— ' 
ty  of  Kichelieu,  and  shrunk  back  into  himself,  de- 
pressed and  overawed  :  the  qneen  pressed  her 
hand  before  her  eves  ;  and  Chavigni  hnll'-raised  him- 
self, as  if  to  speak,  but  instantly  resumed  his  seat 
as  his  eye  met  that  of  tbe  cardinal. 

It  waa  Mademoiselle  de  Hiuteford  alone  that 
heard  her  cf)ndemnition  wit.hont  apparent  emotion. 
She  merely  bowed  her  head  wifi  a  look  cf  the  most 
perfect  resicnaliop.  '•  Vour  eminence's  will  shall 
be  ol)«vcd.''  s!.e  replied,  "and  niav  a  gracious  God 
protect  my  innocent  mistress  I"  Thus  sa^in£,  she 
again  took  her  place  behind  the  queen's  chair,  with 
hardly  a  change  of  countenance — always  pale,  per- 


KlCHKLlEn.  8S7 

haps  her  faee  was  a  little  paler,  but  it  was  scarcely 
perceptible. 

'And  now/'  contliiued  Richelieu,  in  the  same 
proud  manner,  ass-uining  at  once  that  power  which 
he  in  reality  possessed, — "and  now  let  us  proceed 
to  the  origiiii;d  matter,  from  which  we  have  been 
di>=^r'ed  to  sweep  away  a  butleiHy.  Your  mnjesry 
co!Uei?es  yourself  guilty  of  treason,  in  correspond- 
ing with  the  enemies  of  the  kingdom.  1  hold  in 
my  hand  a  paper  to  tliat  effecl,  or  something  very 
similar,  all  drawn  Worn  irrefragable  evidence  upon 
the  subject.  This  you  may  as  well  sign,  and  on 
that  condition  no  further  notice  fchall  be  taken  of 
the  alfair:  but  the  matter  shall  be  forgotten  as  an 
error  in  judgment.*' 

"  1  have  7iot  cf  nfessed  myself  guilty  of  treason, 
arrogant  prelate,"  leplied  the  cpieen,  "  and  1  have 
not  corresponded  with  Philip  of  Spain  as  an  enemy 
of  France,  but  as  my  own  brotiier.  Nor  vvil!  1, 
while  1  have  life,  sign  a  paper  so  filled  with  false- 
hoods as  any  one  must  be  that  comes  from  )our 
hand." 

"  Your  majesty  sees;'  said  Richelieu,  turni  g  to 
the  king,  from  whom  ihe  faint  sparks  of  ene-'^y  he 
had  l:;tely  shown  were  n(tw  entirely  gone.  "  Is 
there  any  medium  to  be  kept  with  a  pcrfion  so  con- 
victed of  error,  and  so  obstinate  in  the  wrong  ? 
And  is  such  a  person  fit  to  educate  the  children  of 
France  1  Ycnr  mnjesty  has  promised  that  the  dau- 
phin and  the  Duke  of  Anjou  shall  be  given  into  my 
charge." 

"  I  have,"  said  the  weak  monarch,  "and  I  will 
keep  my  promise." 

"  JNever  !  never  !  '  cried  the  queen,  vehemently  ; 
'•■  never,  while  Anne  of  Austria  lives  !  Oh,  my  U  rcll' 
she  exclaimed,  advancing,  and  casting;  herself  at  the 
feet  of  the  king  with  all  the  overpowering  energy 
of  maternal  love;  "  co.sjder  tiiat  I  am  their  moth- 
er !  Rob  me  not  of  my  only  hope. — rob  me  not  of 
those  dear  children  who  have  smiled  and  cheered 
me  through    nil   my   eorrows.     Oh,  Louis  I  if  you 


38  ftt;J!r':i,lL-G. 

have  the  feelings  of  a  father,   if  you  have  the  feel- 
ings of  a  man,  spare  me  tiiis  I"' 

The  kituj  turned  away  his  head,  and  Richelieu, 
f  1  <ling  behind  tlie  llirone,  placed  liiinself  at  the 
queen's  side.  "  Sign  the  paper."  said  he,  in  a  low 
deep  tone  ;  "  sign  the  paper,  and  they  shall  not  be 
tiken  from  you.'' 

"Anything!  any  tiling!  tut  leave  me  my  chil- 
dren !'■  exclaimed  the  queen,  taking  the  pen  he  of- 
fered her.     "  Have  I  your  promise  V 

"  You  have,"'  replied  he,  decidedly.  "  They  shall 
not  be  taken  from  you." 

•'  Well,  then  !'  said  Ann  of  Austria,  receiving  the 
paper,  "  I  will  sign  it;  but  I  call  Heaven  to  wit 
ness  that  I  am  innocent ;  and  you,  gentlemen  of  the 
council,  to  see  that  I  sign  a  })aper,  the  contents  of 
which  1  know  not,  and  p:irt  ot  which  is  certainly 
false."  Thus  saying,  with  a  rapid  hand  she  wrota 
her  name  at  the  boilt^m  of  the  page,  threw  down 
tl;e  pen,  -.nd  quilled  tl.e  .Tparunt.nt. 

The  queen  walked  blowly,  ar.d  in  silence,  to  the 
apartments  allotled  to  her  use,  without  giving  way 
to  the  various  pniniul  feci.ngs  tiiat  struggled  in  her 
bosom  ;  but  once  arrived  witliin  the  shelter  of  her 
own  saloon,  she  sank  into  a  chair,  and  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears.  Madem<  i^elle  de  Hauteford,  who 
stood  beside  her  enueav!  uretl  in  vain  for  some  time 
to  calm  her  agitation,  but  at  length  succeeded  in  a 
degree. 

'^  Oh,  Clara  !"  said  the  queen,  "  you  have  ruined 
your.self  for  my  sake." 

"  I  hope,  madam,"  replied  the  young  lady,  "  that 
1  have  done  my  duty,  whicii  were  enough  in  itself 
to  reconcile  me  to  my  fate  ;  but  if  1  could  suppose 
that  I  have  served  your  mnjesty,  I  should  be  more 
than  rewarded  for  any  tiling  i  may  undergo." 

"  You  h.'ive  served  mc  most  deeply  on  tliis  and 
every  occasion,"  answered  the  queen;  '*  and  the 
time  may  come,  when  the  affection  of  Anne  of 
Austria  will  not  be  what  it  is  now, — the  destruciioa 
of  all  that  po66e«8  iu  But  why  comes  Mademoiselle 


RICiiELIKU  239 

de  Beaumont  in  such  haste  ?"'  she  continueil,  as 
Pauline,  vvl;o  hat!  bpen  abser;t  in  tl^e  garJens  cf  the 
palnro,  and  unconscious  of  ail  tiial  liad  lately  jiass- 
td,  entered  t' e  saloua  w  ilh  hurry  and  an^iely  in 
her  cnuntcuance. 

*•■  Ple:;se  your  majesty/'  said  Pauline,  and  then 
suddenly  slopi.ed,  seeing  that  the  queen  had  been 
weeping.  ''Pioceed,  proceed  !  wild  r<;se."  t^aid 
Anne  tf  Austria!  ••  ihey  are  but  tears — drops  that 
signiiy  nuthii  g  " 

*•  As  I  was  vv-alk-nsr  in  the  gardens  but  now,"  con- 
tinued Pauline,  "  a  li'ule  peasant  boy  came  up  to 
me,  and  asked  if  I  could  brng  him  to  speech  of 
your  majesty.  I  was  surprised  at  his  request,  and 
auked  Ir.ni  what  was  his  business  ;  \%  hen  he  told  n^e 
that  he  brought  you  a  letter  ironi  the  Bastille. 
This  seemed  .so  imporlnnt  that  I  made  hold  to  take 
him  into  the  palace  by  the  private  gate,  and  con- 
cealed him  in  my  apartments,  till  1  iiad  informed 
you  ofit  all.'' 

"You  did  riaht,  Pauline,  you  did  r'ght,"  replied 
the  queen.  "  it  must  surely  be  news  from  De  Ble- 
nau.  Brinir  the  boy  liitlier  directly — not  by  the 
anteroom,  but  by  the  inner  apartments.  You, 
Clara,  station  Laporls  at  the  top  of  the  staircase,  to 
see  that  no  one  approaches." 

Pauline  flew  to  execute  the  qu^^en's  commands, 
and  in  a  fjw  minutes  a  clatter  was  heard  in  the  in- 
ner chamDer,  not  at  all  unlike  the  Jioise  produced 
by  that  most  unfoitunale  animal  a  cat,  when  some 
mischievous  boys  adorn  her  feet  with  walnut-shells. 

The  moment  after,  the  door  opened,  and  Paulino 
appeared  leading  in  a  hne  curly-headed  boy  of  about 
ten  years  old.  He  was  dressed  in  hodden  gray, 
with  a  bro:;d  leathern  belt  round  his  waist,  in  which 
appeared  a  small  axe  and  a  kiiife,  while  his  feet  dis- 
playing no  stockings,  but  with  the  skin  ianned  to 
the  colour  of  Pvu^sia  leather,  were  thrust  itito  a 
pair  of  unwieldy  sabots,  or  wooden  shoes,  which  had 
caused  the  clatter  aforesaid. 

"  Tike  off  his  aabots,  take  off  his  sabots,"  cried 


240  RlCriHLItU. 

the  queen,  putting  her  hands  to  her  care.  *•  Thev 
will  a!nnn  the  whole  house." 

"  Dar,i.c  Old  !''  cried  the  boy,  slipping  his  feet  out 
of  their  incumbrances.  •'  J'ai  voiis  oiiblie,  ct  vcus 
aitssi,  r.iadcmoiuUc,'  t'.:rning  to  Pauline,  who.  anx- 
ious lo  liearof  De  Bleniu.  wi.uid  have  let  him  come 
in  if  he  had  been  shod  like  a  liorse. 

The  little  messenger  now  paused  for  a  moment, 
tlieii  having  cianced  liis  eye  over  the  ladies  at  the 
otiier  end  of  the  r<-fui,  rs  if  to  ascertain  to  which 
he  was  to  deliver  his  credentials,  advajiced  straight 
to  the  queen,  nnd  tailing  down  upon  both  his  knees, 
tendered  her  a  sealed  packet. 

*•  Well,  my  boy,"  said  Anne  of  Austria,  taking  the 
letter,  "  whom  does  this  come  from  1  ' 

'•  iMy  father,  the  v.oodman  of  Mantes/'  replied 
the  boy,  "  told  me  to  give  it  into  the  queen's  own 
hand  ;  and  when  I  had  done  so.  to  return  straight  to 
him  and  not  to  wait,  tor  fear  of  being  discovereii." 

"  .\nd  how  do  ycu  know  that  1  atn  the  queen  ?' 
Rslcd  Anne  of  Austrii,  who  too  often  suffcjred  her 
mind  to*  be  distracted  from  matters  of  grave  import- 
ance by  trifling  objects  of  amusement.  '•  That  lady 
is  the  queen,-'  she  continued,  pointing  to  Madame 
de  Beaumont,  and  plaviag  upon  the  boy's  simplici- 
ty. 

'■  Xo,  r.o,*'  said  Charles,  the  woodman's  son, 
"she  stand.s  and  you  sit  5  and  besides,  you  told  them 
to  take  olf  my  sabots,  as  if  you  were  used  to  order 
all  about  you.  ' 

"  Well,"  rejoined  t!ic  queen,  "you  are  right,  nny 
boy;  go  back  to  your  father,  and  as  a  token  that 
you  have  given  the  letter  to  the  queen,  carry  him 
bick  that  ring;''  and  she  took  a  jewel  from  her  fin- 
ger, and  put  It  into  t!ie  boy's  hand.  '•'Mademois- 
elle de  Beamont,"  she  continue:, '•  will  you  give 
this  hoy  into  the  charge  of  Laporte,  bidding  him 
take  him  from  the  palace  by  the  most  private  way, 
and  not  to  leave  him  till  he  is  safe  out  of  Chantil- 
ly." 

Accoiriing  to  Anne  of  Austria's  command,  Pau- 


RICHELTEU  241 

line  conducted  Charles  to  the  head  of  the  staircase, 
at  which  had  l)ren  stationed  Lnporte,  the  confilen- 
tial  sfrvarit  of  t!:e  queen,  keeping  watch  to  give  no- 
tice of  ,iny  one's  anproach.  To  Jiim  she  delivered 
her  ch.iree  with  the  proper  directums,  and  then  re- 
Uiriie'i  to  the  salonn.  not  a  little  anxious  to  learn 
t1»e  cntents  of  De  Blennu's  letter.  I  will  not  try 
to  explain  he^  Fensntions.  Let  those  who  have  been 
pirted  from  some  oi.e  that  »hev  love,  vvlio  have  been 
an\i<us  for  his  safely  and  terrilird  f"r  his  danper, 
who  have  v\aifpd  in  foar  and  ajoiiy  for  tidin<»s  long 
delaved — let  them  call  up  all  that  they  felt,  and 
tinL'ing  it  wiih  that  shade  of  ronnnce.  which  m-ght 
be  expected  in  the  mind  ofayonnsr.  feeling  imag- 
inative Lan'jueiiocian  uirl  of  1643,  they  will  l-.ave 
some'hing  like  a  picture  of  Pauline's  sensations, 
without  my  helpini^  them  a  bit. 

''Come  hither,  my  wild  rose,"  snid  the  queen,  aa 
she  saw  her  en'er.  •'  Here  is  a  letter  from  Be  B!e- 
nau.  full  of  sad  news  indeed.  His  situation  is  peril- 
ous in  the  extrem  »  ;  and  though  I  am  the  cause  of 
all,  I  do  not  know  how  to  aid  him." 

Pauline  turned  pale,  but  cast  down  her  eyes,  and 
remained  without  ypeakin?. 

"  Surely,  Pauline.'' sai  •  the  queen,  misinterpret- 
ing her  silence,  *'  after  the  explanaiinns  I  gave  you 
poine  days  ago  you  can  have  no  farther  doubt  of 
De  Bienau's  copdurt  ?"' 

'•  Oh,  no.  indeed  !  madam,"  replied  Pauline,  vc'^'e- 
mently,  "  and  now  tiiat  I  feel  and  know-  how  very 
wrong  those  suspicions  were,  I  vould  fnin  do  some- 
thing to  atone  for  having  formed  them.-' 

"  Thou  canst  do  noth'ng,  my  poor  flower,''  said 
the  queen,  with  a  melancholy  smile  "  However, 
read  that  letter,  and  thou  wilt  see  tliat  something 
must  soon  be  done  to  save  liim,  or  his  fite  is  seal- 
ed. De  B'.enau  must  be  in^'ormed  that  I  have  ack- 
nowledged writing  to  my  brother,  and  all  tlie  par- 
ticulirs  connected  therewith  j  for  well  I  know  that 
Richelieu  will  not  be  contented  with  my  confess- 

vot.i.  16 


VIS  RXCHEIICIL 

ion,  bat  will  attempt  lo  wring  something  glore  frem 
him,  even  by  the  pdne  forte  tt  dure.'' 

Pauline  read,  and  re-read  the  letter,  and  each 
tirae  she  did  so  the  colour  came  and  went  in  her 
cheek,  and  at  every  sentence  she  raised  l>er  large 
dnrk  eyes  to  the  queen,  as  it"  inquiring  wliat  r  ouid 
be  done  for  him.  Each  of  the  queen's  ladies  waa 
silent  for  a  tinie.  and  then  each  proposed  some  plan, 
which  was  quickly  discussed  and  rejected,  as  cith- 
er too  dangerons,  or  totally  impracticable.  One 
proposed  to  bribe  the  governor  of  tlie  Bastille  to  con- 
vey a  letter  to  De  Blenau,  but  that  was  soon  reject- 
ed :  another  proposed  to  send  Laporte,  the  queen'* 
valet-de-chambre,  to  try  and  gaiji  admittance  ;  but 
Laporte  had  once  been  confined  there  himself,  and 
was  well  known  to  all  the  officers  of  the  prison  ; 
and  another  mentioned  Seguin  Anne  of  Austria's 
surgeon  J  but  he  also  was  not  only  too  well  known, 
but  it  appeared,  from  what  De  Blenau  had  inftrmed 
the  queen  of  his  conference  with  Richelieu,  that 
the  very  words  of  the  message,  which  hnd  been 
seat  by'himon  tlie  night  of  the  young  count's  en- 
counter with  the  robbers,  had  been  communicated 
lo  the  cardinal ;  and  the  whole  party  forgot  that 
Louise,  the  sonbrette,  had  been  present  when  it  was 
delivered. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Pauline  remained  profoundly 
silent,  occupied  by  many  a  bitter  reflection,  vvlijlea 
thousand  confused  sciiemes  flitted  across  her  mind, 
like  bubbles  floating  on  a  stream,  and  breaking  as 
soon  as  they  were  looked  upon.  At  lengiii,  how- 
ever, she  started,  as  if  some  more  feasible  plan  pre- 
sented itself  to  her  thoughts — "  I  will  go  '.'exclaim- 
ed she, —  '  Please  your  nir.jesty,  1  will  go.'' 

•'  You,  Pauline  !"  said  the  queen,  '•  you,  ray  poor 
girl  !  You  know  not  the  difficulties  of  such  an  un- 
dertaking. What  say  you,  iNladame  de  Beaumont  ?" 

"  That  I  am  pleased,  madam,  to  see  my  child 
show  forth  the  spirit  of  her  race,"  replied  the  mar- 
chioaesuB.     '•  Nor  do   I  doubt  of  ber  success  i  far 


RICHELIEU.  24J. 

Burc  I  <im   Pauline   would   not  propose  a  project 

which  had  no  good  foundation." 

'•  Then  say  how  you  intend  to  mnnage  it,"  said 
the  qucfu,  witli  iittje  fai:h  in  the  prac?ical>ility  of 
P.miinc's  proposal.  "  1  d^ubt  nie  miich,  my  sweet 
girl,  iliey  will  never  let  y«  u  into  the  Bastille. 
Ti.eir  lieaits  are  as  hard  as  the  stones  of  the  prison 
tliat  tfiey  keep,  and  they  will  give  you  no  ingress 
fur  love  i/fjour  bripht  e^es." 

'•  1  do  not  intend  to  make  that  a  plea,"  replied 
Pauline,  suiijnig  in  youthful  confidence;  "but  I 
will  borrow  one  of  my  maid's  dresses,  and  doubt- 
Ipos  shall  look  as  like  a  soubrcUe  as  any  one.  Claude 
direct^^^  us,  here,  to  ask  at  the  gate  for  Philip  the 
woodman  of  Mantes.  Now  he  will  most  likely  be 
able  to  procure  me  admission  ;  and  if  n'  t,  I  can  but 
give  the  messa;ie  to  him  and  be  sent  away  again." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !''  cried  the  queen,  "  give  no  mes- 
sages but  in  the  last  extremity.  How  do  we  know 
that  ihis  woodman  might  not  betray  us,  and  raise 
j  Richelieu's  suspicions  still  nu^re  ?  If  you  can  see 
De  B!cnau,  well — i  will  give  you  a  letter  for  him  ; 
but  if  not,  only  tell  the  wondman  to  inform  nim, 
that  1  1: ave  confessed  all.    tf  that  reach  the  tyrant's 

!;  ears,  it  can  do  no  harm.     Your  undertaking  is  bold, 
Pauline  :  think  you  your  courageWill  hold  out  V 
Tiie  boundar-es  between  emuhuion  and  jealousy 
i'  are  very  frail,  and  AJadame   fin  Beauni'  at,  who  re- 
>,i!  garded  the  services  which  Mademoiselle  de  Haule- 

II  ford  had    rendered  the  queen   with  some  degree  of 
j  envy,  now  answered  for  herdaughter's  courage  with 
I  more  coniidence  than   perhaps  she  felt      But  Pau- 
i  line's  plan  yet  required  great  arrangement,  even  to 
jgive    it  the    probability  of  success.     With    a  thou- 
.)' sand- eves  ci  ntinually  upon  iheir  actions,    it  was  no 
i^iVery  easy  matter  even  to  quitChantilly  without  call- 
'  ing  down  that  observation  and  inquiry  which  would 
have  been  fatal  to  their  project. 

To  obviate  this  difficulty,  however,  it  was  agreed 
that  Pauline  should  accompany  Mademoiselle  d^ 
ttautefbrd,  whose  s«D.tancfi  of  tianiabmant  r«quirW 


|44  ItlCHELIEt^. 

iier  ;nimediare  presence  in  Paris,  for  the  arrange^ 
menl  of  her  affairp.  On  their  arrival  in  ibat  city, 
the  two- ladies  were  to  take  up  their  al.'ode  with  the 
old  Marchioness  Ue  Serecy,- one  of  the  queen-'s- 
m:>£t  devoted  adherents,  and  to  determine  their  fu- 
ture proceedings  by  the  inforntatiun  they  received 
upon  the  sp 't; 

The  grenlftst  rapidity,  however,  was  necessary  ta 
any  hope  of  success,  and  neither  Paaiine  n«.r  Made- 
moiselle de-Hauteford  lost  any  time  in  tiieir  prepar- 
ations. The  queen's  letterto  De  Bienau  was  soon- 
viritten.  Pauline  borrowed  from  lier  maid  Louise, 
the  full  dress  of  a  Languedoc  peasant,  provided  her- 
self wi  h  a  c»nsiderable  sum  of  money,  that  no- 
mean*  mi;.ht  l.e  left  untried,  and  having  taken  leave 
of  her  n.o'.her,  whi  se  bold  counsels  tended  to  raise 
her  sidfits  ai'd  uphold  her  repolutinn.  slie  placed 
herself  in  tie  c/ua'dc  roitZflTiie  beside  Madeinoiselle 
de  Hantefofd.  bwvyed  up  with  youthful  conhdenco- 
and  enthusiasm. 

It  wag   rather  an    anxious-  moment,  however,  as^ 
they  passed  the  gates  of  the  p»lace,  which  by  some 
accident  were  shut.     Tiiis  caused  a  momentary  de- 
lay, and  several  of  the  card+nal's  guard   (for  Hiche- 
lieu  assumed    that    of  a  body-guard    among    other- 
marks  of  royalty)  gathered'around  the  vehicle  with 
the  idle  curi»>s'ty  of  an  unemployed  soldiery.     Pau- 
line's heart  beat  .fast,  but  the  moment  after  she  waa 
relieved  by  the  appearance  of  the   old  concierge,  or: 
porter,  who  threw  open  t -e  gates,  and  the  caniage 
rolled  out  witlioot  any  question  being  asked.     H^r- 
mind,   however,  w^s    not  wholly    relieved  till  ihey 
were  completely  free  of  the  town  of  Chantilly,  and' 
till  the  carriage  slowly  mounting  the  first  little  hill/ 
took  a  slight   turn  to  avoid  a  steeper   ascent,  show-- 
ing  them  the  towers  of  the  chateau  and  the  course  ■ 
of  the   road  they  had   already  passed,   without  any 
human  form  that  could  afford'subject  for  alarm. 

Pauline,  Beeing  that  they  were  not  followed,  gave 
herself  up  to  meditations  of  the  future,  firnaly  be- 
li«ving^  that  Ui«ir  departure  had  entirely  eic^ed  tbo:: 


^ICHELIET^  t45 

-bbflervations  of  the  cardinal.  This,  "hcrtvever,  wat 
.not  the  case.  He  had  been  eark  informed  tliat  one 
of  the  queen's  carriages  was  in  preparation  to  carry 
some  of  the.  ladies  oriionnr  to  Paris  ;  Irut  conclud- 
ing that  it  was  nothing  more  than  the  ^fTcct  of  that 
sentence  of  banishment  vhtch  he  lad  himself  pro- 
nounced against  Madem<'isL'lle  de  Hauiefurd,  he 
•«nfl'ered  Pauline  and  her  companion  to  depart  with- 
out in-quiry  or  obstruction  :  although  s«>rne  of  the 
•many  lo<ilsnf  Ids  power  had  shut  the  pa!ti'"e  gates, 
as  if  L'v  accident,  till  his  decision  was  known. 

As  the  carriage  rolled  on.  and  Pauline  reflected 
in  silence  upon  tlie  task  she  had  imderiaken.  the 
bright  colouring  of  tite  moment's  entiiUS'asm  faded 
away  ;  the  mists  in  which  hope  had  conceuled  the 
rrotks  and  precipices  around  iier  path  no  lon;.er  in- 
tercepted her  view,  and  the  whole  difhctillies  and 
dangers  to  which  she  exposed  herself,  presented 
themselves  one  afer  another  to  her  sight.  But  the 
<orjgina:  motives  still  remained  in  full  force.  Her 
^e*"])  romantic  attachment  to  De  Blenati.  her  sense 
'of  duty  to  the  q;ip<3n,  and  that  gene  osity  «if  |  urpose 
■iivhich  would  have  led  her  at  any  time  to  ris-k  her 
life  to  ^ave  the  innocent — much  n»ore  the  innocent 
and  loved — of  tlfese  nothing  c<tuld  deorive  her;  and 
these  kept  up  her  resolution,  although  the  very  in- 
terest which  her  heart  took  in  tlie  success  of  her 
•endeavour,  madehermaszrdfy  the  dangers,  and  trem- 
ble at  the  thought  of  failure. 


140  RICHELIEU. 


CHAPTER  XrX. 

Which  short'3  whil    (hey  did  wuh   De  BItn.iu  in  the  BaslilTe, 
and  wlui  he  hiinseir  did  lo  'el  out  o(  h. 


As  n  young  meujhrr  of  what  is  technically  cnlled 
the  lower  /<Oi»--e,  or  otherwise  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, when  lirst  he  uoes  down  after  his  elecljon  lo 
take  the  oaths  and  liis  seat,  his  heart  Ruiterjn^  both 
v.-t  I  pride  and  limidiiy.  most  conscienUously  re- 
solves to  be  independent  in  all  his  opinions,  and  de- 
termines heroiciiliy  t^*  have  no  party  :  so  had  I, 
whc:;  ■  t.'iitered  upon  tiie  arduous  duties  of  <riving 
this  wurk  to  th'  pii!)lic  in  its  present  foiui,  deter- 
mined lier.'i<:a!ly  to  have  no  hero;  but  to  do  equal 
justice  to  all  the  several  characters,  and  let  each 
readr-r  find  a  hero  for  himself. 

However,  pursuing  the  course  of  the  above-men- 
tioned young  n;ember  (.f  the  Commoiis  House  of 
Parliament,  who  soon  begii»s  to  perceive,  that  it  i* 
as  Pi-y  to  eat  ovsters  and  brown  sUi^ar,  as  to  vote 
witli  a  parly  to  v\hom  he  h:>s  a  n:»tural  antipathy; 
or  for  the  needle  to  fly  from  the  magnet  as  for 
him  to  keep  aloof  from  that  fiction  to  wiiich  indi- 
vidual iiiteresls.  long-indulged  habits,  and  early 
prejudices  atta'^h  hiin;  so,  1  soon  began  to  find 
that  mv  own  feel  n-jji?  more  panicularly  inclining 
me  to  the  Count  de  Blenau.  I  unconscion>l>.  made 
Iiim  the  hero  of  my  tale,  dilated  on  his  history, 
enlarged  upon  his  chamcer.  quitted  him  witii  re- 
gret, and  returned  to  /dm  ^^ith  pleasure. 

At  presciit,  however,  the  course  ol  my  tale  natu- 
rally conducts  me  once  more  to  the  gloomy  wnllg 
of  the  Bistille,  to  give  some  account  of  the  cir- 
curnstnnces  whic'i  led  to  the  latter  events  <  f  the 
last  cliapter;  an  I  consequently  1  feel  no  hesitation 
in  once  more  !a';i!ig  up  the  history  of  my  hero. 

The  sleep  of  the  Count  de  Blenau  was  fully  aa 
Bound  within  the  Bastiile  as  it  ever  had  been  in  hi» 


RICHELIEU  247 

own  hotel  at  St.  Germain  :  nor  was  it  till  th^  day 
was  risen  high  that  he  awoke,  on  the  first  morn- 
ing after  his  imprisonment. 

It  was  some  moments  before  he  could  remember 
his  precise  situation,  so  profound  had  been  his  sleep. 
But  the  unpleasant  parts  of  our  fate  soon  recall 
themselves  to  our  senses,  though  we  may  forget 
them  for  a  lime ;  and  the  narrow  windows,  the 
iron  door,  and  the  untapestried  walls,  speedily 
brought  back  to  De  Blenau's  recollection  many  a 
painful  particular,  to  which  sleep  had  given  a  tem- 
porary oblivion. 

On  rising,  he  missed  in  some  degree  the  attend- 
ance to  which  he  was  accustomed;  but  neverthe- 
less he  contrived  to  get  through  the  business  of  the 
toilet  without  much  difficulty  ;  although  no  page 
was  ready  at  his  call,  no  groom  prepared  to  adjust 
every  part  of  his  apparel.  He  then  proceeded  into 
the  outer  chamber,  which  he  mentally  termed  his 
Saloon,  and  would  willingly  have  ordered  his  break- 
fast, but  his  apartments  afforded  no  means  of  com- 
niunicntint:  with  those  below,  except  by  the  iron 
door  already  mentioned  ;  the  secret  of  which  was 
nf  too  great  importance  to  be  lost  upon  so  trifling 
an  occasion. 

j\n  remedy  presented  itself  but  patience,  and 
pr-iceeding  to  the  window,  which  opened  at  will  to 
admit  the  air,  but  which  was  strongly  secured  on 
the  outside  with  massy  iron  bars,  he  endeavoured 
to  amuse  the  time  by  looking  into  the  court  below, 
in  which  he  muld  occasionally  catch  a  glimpse  of 
some  of  his  fellow-prisoners,  appearins?  and  disap- 
pearin^T.  ns  they  sometimes  emerged  into  the  open 
space  within  his  sight,  and  sometimes  retired  into 
the  part  which  the  ihickne^'s  of  the  walls  in  which 
the  window  was  placed,  liid  from  bis  view. 

TI.ey  were  now  apparently  tatting  their  morn- 
ing's walk,  and  enjoying  the  privilege  of  c-nvcrsing 
with  each  other— a  privilege  which  De  Blenau  be- 
gan to  value  more  nighly  than  ever  he  had  done. 
Among  those  that  ht~b«hcld  were  many  whoi^  ba 


248  RICHEIlEtf. 

recognised,  as  having  either  known  them  personal- 
ly, or  hav  ng  seen  ihein  at  the  court,  or  with  the 
army  J  ami  ilie  suanje  assemblage  of  all  (Mfferent 
parties  whicli  met  his  eye  in  the  court  yard  of  the 
Ba^tUle,  fully  cor.vinced  him.  thnt  umier  tlie  ad- 
ministration of  a  man  who  lived  in  constiint  fear 
tlint  liis  ill-gotten  power  would  be  snatched  from 
him,  safety  was  to  be  found  in  no  tenets  and  in  no 
stTtion. 

Here  he  beheld  some  that  had  been  of  the  party 
^lary  de  Mecicis,  and  some  who  had  been  the 
avowed  Ib'.lowers  of  Richelieu  himself;  s<Mne  tiiat 
i'  e  minister  su-pected  of  being  too  much  favoured 
by  the  king,  and  some,  as  in  his  own  case,  v.  ho  Ijad 
been  attached  to  the  queen.  One  he  saw  who  was 
supposed  !o  hnve  favored  the  Huguenots  in  France, 
and  one  that  had  assisted  the  Catholic  -arty  in  Ger- 
many. 

♦*  Well,"  thought  De  Blmau,  "  I  nm  hut  one  out 
of  the  many,  and  whatever  plan  1  i»ad  pursued, 
most  probably  1  should  have  f"und  my  way  here 
somehow.  VVealth  muJ  infiuence,  in  despotic  gOY- 
ernments,  aie  generally  like  ihc  plumes  of  tie  os- 
trich, which  often  cause  her  to  be  bunted  down, 
bu'  will  not  help  her  to  fly." 

\Vhi!e  pn-Ta/'i'd  in  such  reflectiors.  De  Blenau 
heard  the  b'. Its  of  the  door  undrawn,  and  the  pov- 
ernor  of  the  prison  entered,  followed  by  his  servant 
loaded  will)  ti  e  various  requisites  for  so  suhstin- 
tial  a  meal  as  a  breakfast  of  that  period.  De  Ble- 
nau and  the  governor  saluted  each  other  with  every 
outward  form  of  civility  ;  and  the  c('Unf,  perceiv- 
ing that  his  ciistodifr  still  linirered  afier  the  ser- 
vant had  di-^posed  the  various  articles  upcn  the  ta- 
ble and  h.id  taken  his  departure,  lucl^ily  remember- 
ed that  this  wa^one  ofiiie  Jcvrs  rr.aip-es  i-C  which 
he  had  henfv!,  and  invited  his  companion  to  partake 
of  his  m<^rning  meal.  The  L'overnor  agreed  '<-.  the 
proposal  saixs  ^eremonie ,  and  having  done  ample 
wsdce  to  the  jdish  of  stewed  partridges,  which 
Conned  th«  principal  ornament  «f  the   table    he 


KICHELIETJ.  2^ 

himself  finished  a  bottle  of  the  celebrated  wine  of 
Suresnes,  wliich  is  one  of  the  things  now  lost  to 
the  bo7is  vivanls  of  Pat  is. 

De  Bleiiim  was  not  so  much  importuned  by  hun- 
ger as  U)  envy  the  j^ovcrnor  llie  very  large  share  he 
appropriated  <f  the  viands  before  him  5  and  lie  had 
pleutv  of  It^isnre  to  reniarii,  that  his  companion 
perforined  his  feats  of  mastication  uilli  a  wonder- 
ful dcgiee  of  velocity.  But  the  governor  hnd  a 
reason  for  thus  wisiiin'g  to  hurry,  what  was  to  him 
a  very  agreeable  occupation,  to  its  conclusion  ;  for 
lie  had  scarcely  poured  out  tlie  last  goblet  of  his 
wine,. and  was  slill  wiping  and  folding  up  his  case- 
knife  (whif^h.  by  the  wnVj  was  the  constant  com- 
panion of  high  and  low  in  those  days,  and  the 
only  implement  they  had  for  cutting  their  food), 
when  the  door  opened,  and  a  servant  anpr:ired, 
giving  the  govrrnor  a  significant  nod,  which  was 
ansv^ered  I'V  a  sign  of  the  snme  kind. 

Upon  ihis  Ihe  man  retired,  and  the  door  Ijeing 
clo.-^ed,  the  well-tilled  official  turned  to  De  Ble- 
naii, — "  I  did  not  tell  you  before.  Monsieur  le 
Compte."  snid  he.  ''for  fear  of  taking  aw,ay  your 
appeii'e  ;  but  we  have  had  a  mcssajie  this  morning 
from  Monsieur  Lafemas. — you  have  heard  of  Mon- 
sieur Lafenia?,  doubtless  ?— importing  that  he  would 
Boon  be  here  tfi  put  some  questions  to  you.  JNow, 
Moi'sieur  De  Klenau,  you  are  a  trentleman  for 
whom  I  have  a  great  regard,  and  I  \vill  give  you  a 
hint  which  may  be  of  service  to  you.  If  in  the 
examination  which  you  are  about  to  undergo,  tliere 
be  any  questi(ins  to  which  you  do  not  find  it  con- 
venient to  rci.lv,  do  not  refuse  tn  ajiswerthem.  but 
speak  always  in  such  a  n)anner  as  to  bear  t\%o  in- 
terpretations, bv  which  n-.eans  I  have  known  n>any 
a  prisotter  avoid  tiie  torture,  and  sometimes  go  on 
from  cxamiiiaricn  to  examination,  till  tiiey  gave 
him  his  lih-ertv  iVom  pure  weariness." 

De  Blena;i  b:wed,  already  de:.ermined  as  to  the 
course  he  should  pursue.  "When  do  you  e;cpect 
this  worthy   judge  ?"  he  demanded.    "1   am  per. 


250  BICHElIETi 

fectly  unconcerned  as  to  his  comin?.  let  mp  assure 
you,  thoush  I  feel  obliged  by  your  consideration 
for  m\*  appetite.' 

"He  is  here  now.  sir,"  replied  the  governor  ; 
'•'we  had  better,  if  you  please,  join  him  in  thn  audi- 
enre-f  all.  That  servant  came  to  announce  his 
afrivni.'' 

"  I  wi!!  follow  yon  instantly,"  replied  the  count; 
upon  which  the  governor  rose  and  opened  the 
door. 

The  moment  De  Blenau  had  passed  out.  the 
guard,  who  had  been  stitioned  at  the  hend  of  the 
stairs,  followed  at  the  distance  of  a  couple  of 
pa^es,  while  the  <ioverp.or  led  the  wa}'.  In  this 
order  ihev  proceeded  to  the  inner  court,  which 
they  hnd  to  pass  before  they  could  reach  the  audi- 
ence-chaniher.  This  open  space  was  still  filled 
by  the  prisoners.  whr>,  glad  of  the  little  liberty  al- 
lowed thf-tn,  seldom  retired  to  their  cells,  except 
wheii  ohlieed  hv  the  regulations  of  the  prison. 
The  moment  De  Blenau  appeared  in  the  court, 
there  was  a  slight  stir  among  its  tenants,  and  the 
questir>n  of.  •'  Who  is  he  1  who  is  he  ?"  circulated 
rapidlv  amon^  them. 

"  It  is  ll.e  Cnunt  de  Bl^nnu.  by  St.  Louis  !"'  ex- 
clairasd  a  deep  voice,  which  De  Blennu  remem- 
bercil  to  have  henrd  somewhere  before ;  but, 
though  on  looking  round  he  siw  several  persons 
that  he  knew,  he  could  not  fi.K  upon  any  one  in  par- 
ticular ns  the  one  who  ha'l  spoken. 

He  had  not  time,  however,  for  more  than  a  mo- 
mentarv  glance,  and  wns  obliged  to  pass  on  to  the 
door  of  the  audieicvhal!,  which  opened  into  a  lit- 
tle oT-row  pas  a^e  leading  from  the  court.  Here 
Da  BInnau  paused  for  an  instant  to  collect  his 
t''oui't>,  and  then  followed  the  governor,  who 
bad  alreidv  entered. 

The  audlence-hill  of  the  Bastille  was  a  large 
oblong  chamber,  dimly  lighted  by  two  high  Goth- 
ic windows,   which   looked  into   the  outer  court. 

The  scanty  gleam  of  daylight  which  would  have 


RlCnELIEU.  251 

thus  entered,  had  the  space  been  open,  was  imped- 
ed by  llic  dust  and  dirt  of  many  a  century,  and  by 
thelliick  crost-ing  of  tlie  Icicien  fMiueucrk,  while 
its  progress  into  the  ha:l  itself  was  al^'o  firlhcF 
obstructed  by  several  Iicavy  coruinns  vvhicli  sup- 
ported llie  high  p<>inte<l  asches  of  tlic  roof 

Tins  roof,  the  ai)ar!inciit  having  l<een  ftriginally 
intended  for  tlie  clianel.  wouUl  iiave  aiiordod  a  re- 
lief to  the  dulhipss  of  the  rest  by  i'.s  beauliiul  pro- 
porlions.  aiid  the  hiijhly  hnisiied  trarery  witii  wl.ich 
it  was  adorned,  liadtlie  eye  been  able  to  reach  it  j 
but  the  rays,  vv..ieh  from  ihe  causes  above  men- 
tioned were  barely  enough  to  illuminate  tlie  lower 
part  of  the  hall,  were  lost  before  they  could  attain 
Its  height,  leaving  it  in  that  profound  obscurity, 
which  cist  a  double  gloon>  upon  the  space  below. 

The  pavement  of  this  melancholy  hall  was  damp 
and  decayed,  mmy  of  the  stones  having  strayed 
from  tl»eir  I'.id  of  mortar  aiid  become  vngrant  about 
the  apartment;  and  ihe  fumifure,  if  it  might  be  so 
called,  far  from  liiling  it.  served  only  to  show  its 
size  and  emptiness.  At  the  fartl^erextr^iity  was  a 
Jong  t  ible,  at  the  end  uf  which,  in  a  chair  somewlial 
elevated,  sat  the  Judge  Lafemas,  wiih  a  clerk  ;•.!  a 
desk  below  him,  and  two  or  three  exempts  staad- 
ing  round  about. 

JNear  fee  end  next  De  Blenau  was  another  chair, 
xwhich  he  concoiv:  d  to  be  placed  for  his  uro  ;  wiii'c 
between  two  of  l!ie  pill.)r>\  sifting  on  a  curious  ma- 
chine, the  use  of  which  De  Blenau  at  once  suspec- 
ted, appeared  an  ill-favoured  muscular  old  min, 
whose  lowering  brow  and  donrgednes;s  of  aspect 
seemed  to  speak  of  many  a  rufhles.'i  deed. 

As  tlie  count  entered,  the  door  closed  after  him 
with  a  loud  clang  5  and  advancing  to  the  tabic,  he 
took  liis  seat  in  the  vacnnt  clinir,  wliile  the  gover- 
nor i'lneed  himself  at  a  little  disiancG  bv.-Uvec^n  him 
and  the  judge, 

"Well,  MonsietJr  de  Blenau,"  said  Lafemas,  in 
that  sweet  mild  tone  which  he  always  assumed 
when  not  irritated  by  the  taunts  of  Chavigui,  "  This 


252  RICHilLIElJ, 

is  the  last  place  where  I  could  have  wished  to  meCi 
a  nobleman  whose  aenernl  character  has  alwavs 
engaged  ray  most  afTectionate  esteem." 

De  Bieniu  knew  Lafemas  to  be  one  of  the  mean- 
est and  most  vi;>ero!4s  of  llie  cardinal's  touls.  and 
not  feeling  mtiCh  moved  to  exchnn-re  ccurtesies 
with  him,  he  merely  acknowledged  the  judge's  salu-' 
talion  by  asjlent  hc^\■,  while  ihe  oihrr  [rtceeded  : 
'•  I  have  requested  the  pleasure  ff  'sonr  sncielv  for 
a  space  in  order  to  nsk  yi  u  a  few  questions  ;  >our 
reply  to  v%hich  will,  doubtless,  soon  procure  your 
liberation  Irom  this  unpleasant  place." 

'■•  1  trust  i^o.  Fir,"  replif-ii  the  count,  "as  the  de- 
tention of  an  innocent  pe.-s -u  must  occasion  fully 
as  mucli  discredit  to  his  majesty's  tjovernm-ent,  as  it 
does  inconvenience  to  the  person  himself.'* 

'•  You  are  quite  riiiht.  you  are  qui  e  right,"  re- 
joineu  the  sweet-tongued  judce.  •*  Indeed,  uiv  very 
object  in  coming  is  to  obtain  such  answers  from  you 
as  will  convii.ce  the  Cardin:il  de  Richelieu,  uho, 
though  aj3r«!fo::nd  m-nistcr,  is  somewhat  auspicious 
•withal. — to  convince  him.  T  say.  that  you  are  inno- 
cent 5  of  which,  on  m\  conscience,  and  as  I  be- 
lieve in  the  Saviour.  I  have  no  doubt  myself. — In 
the  first  place,  then,''  he  continued.  ''•  tell  me  as  a 
friend  have  you  any  acquaints  nee  in  Brussels  1" 

"  I  have  !"  re;. lied  De  Blenau,  decidedly. 

"That  is  hnrourab'e, — that  is  candid."  said  the 
judge.  "  I  told  y^ou.  Monsieur  le  Gouvernour.  that 
we  shouldbave  no  diffirnity,  and  tijat  Monsieur  de 
■Bleneau  would  enable  me  easily  to  establish  his 
"innocence. — Pray  do  you  corresjiond  with  these 
friends,  he  contiriued,  •'  aid  by  what  means  ?' 

"  I  do  correspond  -with  them;  but  seldom  :  and 
then  by  any  menrs  that  occur.'' 

"  MoisE  eur  de  Blenau.''  exclaimed  Lafemas,  "I 
am  01  cliTn'rd  with  this  frankness;  but  be  a  little 
jrn  re  sr^eific  about  the  means  If  yon  have  no 
parlicular  objection  to  contide  in  me  mention  ajiy 
channel  that  you  call  to  mind,  by  which  you  hafe 
•ent  ietters  to  theHLow  Countries." 


RICHKtIKn.  253. 

Be  Blenau  felt  someuhat  disgusted  with  the 
arweet  and  friendly  manner  of  a  man  whose  deeds 
spoke  him  as  cruel  and  as  bloody-minded  as  a  fam- 
islied  iiprr>r  ;  nnd  nnwilling  to  be  lonuer  mocked 
with  sift  word?',  lie  roolied,  ••  Soinetiuies  l;y  the 
kflngs  couriL-r,  sir  j  sometimes  ijy  tlie  cardinal's  : 
and  on"e  !  remember  having  sent  one  by  your  cous- 
in- Do  MercK'au,  but  1  believe  tiiat  letter  never 
reached  its  tlcstinalion  5  for  you  must  recollect  that 
Dc  IMorceau  was  ban-ged  by  D.'U  Francisco  de 
iVIello,  lor  ripping  open  the  bag,  and  purloining  the 
despatches." 

"  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  that  my  dear 
count.'"  saiii  Lafemas,  stru-.^eling  to  maintain  his 
placidity  ot' demeanour. — "The  next  thing  I  have 
to  inquire  is." — :ind  he  looked  at  a  paper  be  held  in 
his  hand  :  "  Have  you  ever  cotiveved  any  letters  to 
the  Low  CoiMilries  by  any  one  else  ?' 

De  Blennu  answered  in  the  affirmative;  and  the 
jadge  proceeded  with  a  series  of  questions,  very 
similar  to  those  which  had  been  sBked  by  Richelieu 
himself.  ar'fuMy  striviiiir  to  entangle  the  prisoner 
bv  means  of  his  own  adtnissions,  so  as  to  force  t.im 
into  farther  confessions  by  the  impossibility  of  re- 
ceding. But  beyotKl  a  certain  point  De  Blenau- 
would  not  proceed. 

'•Monsieur  Lafemas/'  said  he,  in  a.  calm  firm 
tone,  "  1  perceive  ihat  you  are  going  into  quesiioiis 
which  have  already  b^^en  asked  me  by  his  eminence 
the  cardinal  prime  n^inister  The  object  in  doing-, 
so  is  evidently  to  ex(t!rt  from  me  seme  contradic- 
tion which  may  criminate  myself  5  and  therefore 
henceforward  1  will  reply  to  no.  such  questions- 
whatsoever.  The  c.nrdmal  is  in  pcssession  of  my 
answers;  and  if  you  want  them,  you  must  apply 
to  him." 

*'  You  mistake  entirety,  my  dear  count,"  said. 
Lafemas ;  ''on  my  salvation;  my  only  object  is  to 
serve  you.  You  have  already  acknowledged  that 
you  have  forwa  ded  letters  from  the  queen, — why 
not  now   inform  me  to  whoat  those  le^rs  warft. 


254  RIWreLJEO 

addressed  ?  If  tTiose  letters  were  not  of  a  trea- 
sonable nature,  why  did  slie  not  send  them  by 
one  f'f  her  own  servnnts  ?'' 

•'  When  a  q'lcen  of  France  is  not  allowed  the 
coiniiion  atter.ilants  wliich  a  Eiin[ile  geu'iewoman 
cnn  command,  s'-.e  may  often  hp.  glad  to  use  the 
servants  and  services  of  her  friends.  My  own 
retinue,  sir,  trebles  that  wliich  the  queen  has 
efer  possessed  at  St.  Germain's.  But,  without 
going  into  these  particulars,  your  question  is  at 
onre  replieil  to  by  rem  ncling  you,  that  i  am  her 
majesty's  chamberlain  and  therefore  her  servant." 

'  Without  th.cro  were  something  wrong,  Mon- 
sieur de  Blenau,'  said  Lrifomas,  •'  you  could  have 
no  objecli.)a  to  state  whether  you' have  (.r  have 
not  conveyed  some  letters  from  l:er  mrijesty  to 
Don  John  of  Aus'rin.  Don  Francisco  de  Mello, 
or  IIin;T  Philip  of  Spain.  It  is  very  naturaKlor  a 
queen  to  write  to  her  near  re'atious,  surely  1" 

•'  I  have  already  said/'  replied  De  Blenau,  *'  that 
I  sliail  replv  to  no  sucii  questions,  the  object  of 
which  is  alone  to  entangle  me."' 

•'  Y<-.u  knfiw  not  what  you  are  exposing  yourself 
to,''  rejoined  t!:e  juJge  ;'•  there  are  means  \\ithin 
this  prison  which  wanld  easily  compel  an  answer  '' 

*•  .\on?,"  replied  De  Blenau,  firmly.  "  My  reso- 
luiion  is  taken,  and  no  power  on  car*h  can  shake 
it." 

••  Reallv,  Mf-nsieur  de  Blenau.  it  would  hurt  me 
tn  the  heart  to  leave  you  to  the  dreadful  f;ite 
\\liicli  your  mistaken  detensination  is  likely  to 
call  unon  you.  I  could  ween,  truly  I  could  weep, 
to  tl.i'ik  of  what  you  are  calling  upon  your  own 
head  ;■'  and  the  judge  glnnced  his  eye  towards 
the  midline,  "bich  we  have  already  noticed, 
and  from  which  the  old  mun  rose  up/ as  if  pre- 
pirin:^  tor  his  task. 

••  Vou  mean  the  torlure  ?''  said  De  Blenau, 
lod'ang  at  it  without  a  change  of  countenance- 
'•  But  let  rue  tell  you,  Monsieur  Lafemas,  that 
you    dare    net   order    it  to  a   man  oX"  my  x^ak. 


RICHELIEU.  255 

without  an  express  warrant  for  the  purpo»e  5  nnd, 
even  if  you  Jiad  sucli  authority,  not  all  the  tor- 
ture in  the  woi'ld  would  wring  one  word  from 
me.  Ask  that  instument  of  tyranny,  sir,"  and 
be  pointed  to  t''e  executioner, — '•  ask  him  how 
the  noble  Caply  died  ;  and  so  would  De  Blenau 
also." 

Lafemas  looked  at  the  governor,  and  the  gov- 
ernor at  llie  executioner,  and  so  round.  One  «)f 
the  dreadful  secrets  of  the  Bastille  had  evidently 
escaped  beyond  those  precincts  to  which  they 
were  fearfuily  confined  ;  no  one  could  divine 
how  this  had  occurred,  and  each  susj^ected  the 
other.  A  temporary  silence  ensued,  and  then 
Lafemas  proceeded : 

'*  The  torture  I  no,  Monsieur  de  Blenau  :  God 
forbid  that  [  ehould  think  of  ordering  suoh  a 
thing  1  But  let  me  advise  you  to  answer  ;  for 
I  must,  of  course,  report  your  refusal  to  the  car- 
dinal p;i!ne  minister,  and  you  know  that  he  is 
not  l.kely  to  rorsider  either  your  rank  or  your 
fortune,  but  w'll,  in  all  probability,  order  you"  the 
question  ordinary  and  extraordinary  instantly.'' 

'•  The  ^uilt  be  his,  then  !'  said  De  Bienau. 
"1  have  already  told*  you  my  resolution,  sir  5  act 
■upc»n  it  as  you  t!iink  fit." 

Lafemas  seemed  at  a  loss,  and  a  whispering 
consultation  took  place  between  him  and  the 
secretary,  wlio  seemed  to  urge  more  vigorous 
measures  than  the  ju.^ge  himself  thought  proper 
lo  ptKsue;  for  their  conference  was  ternnnated 
by  Lalomas  excliimiiig  in  a  tone  not  sufliri-ntly 
low  to  escape  De  Blenaus  ear,  '•  I  dare  not.  !  tell 
vou — I  dare  not — I  have  no  orders. — Monsieur  de 
Blenau."  he  continued  aloud,  "you  may  now  re- 
tire, and  1  must  report  your  answers  to  the  cardi- 
nal. But  let  me  advise  you,  as  a  sincere  friend, 
to  be  prepared  with  a  reply  to  the  questions  \ou 
have  now  refused  to  answer,  before  we  next  meet  j 
for  by   that  tim«  I  shall    have  reeeived    his  cmi- 


256  RlCHEU*:tj. 

nence's  commands,  which,  I  fear_.  v.ill  be  more  Be- 
vero  ihnn  my  herirt  could  vvis!i  '" 

Be  Btpiiau made  no  ri'ply.  bsit  witl.drew,  escort- 
ed MS  l)flo.e  .  and  it  were  nerdipss  to  dcnv.  tHat, 
PO'.*'ith5ta!idiii|T  tlie  cooli-css  Nviih  nldrh  ho.  had 
borne  his  esandnation,  and  il:c  for  inide^vitli  which 
he  was  prepared  to  repel  ti;e  worst  that  could  be 
inflicted,  his  lieart  heal  hijli  as  tlif»  door  of  t!ie  au- 
dif  nce-hall  closed  behind  him,  and  he  looked  for- 
ward to  returning  to  Ids  apartments  with  more 
pleasure  than  a  captive  usually  regards  the  place  of 
his  conlinement. 

'J'he  many  ajitating  circumstances  widch  had 
passed  since,  had  completely  brinished  fri-m  his 
thoughts  tlie  voice  whic!)  lie  had  h.eard  [ronoiince 
his  nume,  on  the  first  time  ofl  is  crossinjr  tie  court  j 
but  as  he  returned,  Ids  eye  fell  upon  the  f<Mm  of  a 
tali,  s  rong  man,  stnnding  under  the  archway  j 
and  he  instantly  recognised  the  woodman  <<f  the 
forest  of  Mantes. 

De  Blenau.  had  spoken  to  him  a  thousand  times- 
in  iiis  various  huntinj-e.xci:rsions.  and  he  could  not 
help  being  astonisiied  to  meet  himin  such  a  place, 
little  dreaming  that  he  himself  was  the .  cause. 
"  V/iiat.  in  tl  c  j-.nme  of  Heaven  I'  tlu-uaht  le.  "  can 
that  man  have  done  to  n-erit  coiifi'K  ment  here  1 
Surely,  I'iclielieu,  who  affects  to  be  an  eagle  of 
the  highest  flight,  might  stoop  on  nobler  prey  than 
that.' 

As  these  thou':1;ts  crossed  h;s  m'nd.  he  passed 
by  the  foot  if  ilie  Mule  low<r,  coninining  the 
staircase  which  communicated  with  In-?  apnrlmenta 
by  ih"  iron  d(,or  in  the  inner  chamber.  This  had- 
evidentlv  been  lonf^  disused  ,  and  on  rememl>er- 
ing  the  position  of  tlie  two  chnmbers  which  he 
occupied,  l;e  conceived  that  they  must  have  beeff 
at  one  time  quite  distinct,  with  a  separate  entrance- 
to  each,  the  one  hrin«g  arrived  nt  by  the  turret, 
and  the  other  bv  the  chief  staircase.  He  had, 
however,  only  time  to  take  a  casual  glance,  and 
wisely  refrainid  from  maliius  tbat  very  apparent  > 


mctiELlsu  257 

for  the  governor,  who  walked  beside  him,  kept 
his  eyes  always  constantly  fixed  upon  him,  as  if 
to  prevent  any  communic-tion  even  by  a  sign 
with  the  other  prisoners. 

On  arriving  at  his  chamber,  the  governor  allowed 
him  to  pass  in  alone,  and  having  fastened  the  door, 
returned  to  Lafemas,  leaving  De  Blenau  to  medi- 
tate over  his  situation  in  solitude.  The  first  pleas- 
ure of  having  escaped  from  immediate  danger  having 
aubsided,  there  was  nothing  very  cheering  to  con- 
template in  his  position.  His  fate,  though  postpon- 
ed, seemed  inevitable.  Richelieu,  he  knew,  was 
no  way  scrupulous ;  and  the  only  thing  which  hon- 
our could  permit  him  to  do,  was  to  defend  the 
queen's  secret  with  his  life. 

The  queen  herself  indeed  might  relieve  him  from 
this  difficulty,  if  he  could  find  any  way  of  communi- 
cating with  her.  But  in  looking  round  for  the 
means,  absolute  impossibility  seemed  to  present  it- 
self on  all  sides.  In  vain  he  sought  for  expedients  j 
his  mind  suggested  none  that  a  second  thought  con- 
firmed. He  once  contemplated  inducing  the  gov- 
ernor to  forward  a  letter  by  the  temptation  of  a 
large  bribe  :  but  a  moment's  reflection  showed  him 
thotit  was  a  thousand  to  one  that  the  smooth-spok- 
en officer  both  accepted  his  bribe  and  betrayed  hia 
trust. 

Many  other  plans  were  rejected  in  a  like  manner, 
from  a  conviciion  of  their  impracticability,  till  at 
length  a  vague  thought  of  gaining  an  interview  with 
the  v/oodman  of  Mantes,  and,  if  possible,  engaging 
him  to  bribe  some  of  the  inferior  officers  of  the 
prison,  crossed  De  Blenau's  mind  ;  and  he  was  still 
endeavouring  to  regulate  his  ideas  on  the  subject, 
when  the  bolts  were  once  more  withdrawn,  and  the 
governor  again  entered  the  apartment. 

"  Let  me  congratulate  you,  Monsieur  De  Ble- 
nau," said  he,  with  a  look  of  sincere  pleasure, 
which  probably  sprang  more  from  the  prospect  of 
continued  ga^in  to  himself  than  any  abstract  gratifi- 

fot.i,  17 


258  RlCHELlfiC 

cation  in  De  Blenau's  safety.  "  Monsieur  Lafemas 
is  gone,  and  as  the  cardinal  is  at  Chantilly,  jou  will 
be  safe  for  three  or  four  davs  at  least,  as  nothing 
can  be  decided  till  his  eminence  returns." 

De  Blenau  well  knew  how  to  estimate  the  kind- 
ness of  his  friend  the  governor  >  but  truiugh  he  put 
its  proper  value  upon  it,  and  i;o  more,  he  felt  the 
necessity  of  striving  to  make  his  interested  mean- 
ness .xi'the  part  of  real  friendship. 

"Well,  Monsieur  je  Gouverneur,"' said  he,  as- 
suming a  cheerful  air,  "  I  suppose,  then,  that  1  shall 
re  :  ain  with  you  a  day  or  two  longer  3  nor  should  i. 
indeed,  care  so  much  for  thee,(^|inement,  where  1 
am  so  well  treated,  if  I  had-sonie^Vjie  to  wait  upon 
me  whom  I  have  been  acc.ustonied  to."' 

"  I  do  not  know  howthnt  c^uld  be  arranged,"  re- 
plied the  governor,  thougatfully  ;  "I  would  do  any 
thing  JLo  ser\e  y&u,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,  consistent 
with  my  duty,  but  this  is  quite  contrary  to  mv  or- 
ders 5  and  if  I  were  to  allow  you  one  of  my  own 
servants,  it  would  put  me  completely  in  his  pow- 
er," 

"  Oh,  that  would  not  do  at  all,"  said  De  Blenau  ; 
"  but  are  there  not  some  of  the  inferior  prison- 
ers"— The  governor'e  brow  darkened. — "Ot  course,' 
continued  the  count,  "you  would  have  to  pay  them 
ioT  their  trouble— and  l',  of  course,  would  reimburse 
you.  If  you  t'link  that  three  hundred  crowns  wou!d 
induce  one  of  them  to  wait  on  me  for  the  time  I  am 
here,  I  would  willingly  pay  the  money  into  youc 
hands,  and  you  could  mike  ajl  the  necessary  ar- 
rangements for  the  purpose." 

The  countenance  of  the  governor  gradually  clear- 
ed up  as  De  Blenau  spoke,  like  a  sheltered  lake 
that,  after  having  been  agitated  for  a  moment  by 
some  unwonted  breeze,  soon  relapses  into  its  calm, 
tranquility,  when  that  which  disturbed  it  has  passed 
away.  The  idea  of  appropriating,  with  such  un- 
oueMioned  facility,  the  greater  part  of  three  hun- 
ared  crowns,,  was  the  sun  which  tUus  speedily  dis- 
perse she  clouds  upon  his  brow :  and   ho   mused 


RICHELIEU.  269 

Tor  a  moment,  calculating  shrewdly  the  means  of 

attaining  his  object. 

'^The  worst  of  it  is."  said  he  at  length,  "that  we 
have  MO  inferior  prisoners.  Tliey  are  all  prisoners 
of  state  in  the  Bistille — But  stay,"  he  added,  a  fe-' 
licilous  idea  crossing  his  mind,  "  1  remember  there 
was  a  man  brought  here  this  morning  by  Chavigni's 
people,  and  they  told  me  to  give  him  all  possible 
liberty,  and  employ  him  in  the  prison  if  1  could." 

"That  will  just  do  tl. en,"  said  De  Blenau,  in- 
wardly praying  that  it  might  be  the  honest  wood- 
man of  Mantes.  '•  He  can  visit  me  here  occasional- 
ly during  the  day,  to  see  if  I  have  need  of  him,  and 
the  guard  at  the  door  can  take  good  care  that  I  do 
not  follow  him  out,  which  is  all  that  your  duty  de- 
mands." 

'•Of  course,  xif  course,"  replied  the  governor; 
**  it  is  your  safe  custody  alone  which  I  have  to  look 
to :  and  fariher,  I  am  ordered  to  give  you  every 
convenience  and  attention,  which  warrnnts  me  in 
allowing  you  an  attendant  at  least.  But  here  comes 
youf  dinner,  sir." 

"Dinner!"  exclaimed  De  Blen:;^U;"il  surely  is 
not  yet  noon."  But  so  it  p'-'ived  :  the  time  had 
passed  more  quickly  than  he  tl-ou^ht  :  nor  indeed 
had  he  any  reason  to  regret  the  appenrnnce  of  din- 
ner, for  the  substantial  and  luxurious  meal  which 
was  served  up  at  his  expense  on  that  jour  maigrt 
did  not  proTe  any  bad  aiixiiinry  in  overcoming  what- 
ever scruple  yet  lingered  ab'iut  the  mind  of  Mon- 
sieur le  Gnuvernenr.  At  every  monthiul  .  f  becasse 
his  countenance  became  more  placable  and  com- 
placent, and  while  he  was  busily  occupied  in  sop- 
pinir  tiiC  last  morsels  of  his  dorade.  m  the  sauce  cm 
cornichons.  and  c.'iiveying  them  to  the  capacious 
aperture  whic'.i  stood  open  to  receive  theni,  our 
prri-oner  obt.Tined  his  f^W  consent  that,  t'  i  person 
he  had  mentioned  should  i  ave  egre-s  nm!  rc^res^  cf 
the  apartment  5  for  which  liberty  hov  ever.  De  Ble- 
nau was  obliged  to  pay  down  the  sum  of  three  hun- 


260  RiCHELifiU 

dred  crowns  under  the  specious   name  of  wages  to 
the  attendant. 

This  Rirangement,  and  the  dinner,  came  to  a  con- 
clusion much  about  the  same  time;  and  the  gover- 
nor, %vho  had  probably  been  engaged  with  De  Ble- 
nau's  good  cheer  much  longer  than  was  quite  con- 
sistent with  his  other  duties,  rose  and  retired,  to 
seek  the  inferior  prisoner  whose  name  he  could  not 
remember,  but  whom  he  piously  resolved  to  reward 
with  a  crov.n  per  diem,  thinking  that  such  unparal- 
leled liberality  ought  to  be  recorded  in  letters  of 
gold.      . 

In  regard  to  De  Blenau,  the  governor  looked  up- 
on him  as  the  goose  with  the  golden  eggs  ;  but 
more  prudent  than  the  boy  in  the  fable,  he  resolved 
to  prolong  his  life  to  tlie  utmost  of  his  power,  so 
long,  at  least,  as  he  continued  to  produce  that  glit- 
tering ore  which  possessed  such  wcnderlul  attrac- 
tion mhis  eyes.  De  Blenau,  however,  was  not  the 
goose  he  thought  him  ;  and  though  he  waited  with 
some  impatience  to  see  if  the  person  on  whom  so 
much  might  depend,  were  or  were  not  his  honest 
friend  the  woodman,  yet  his  thoughts  were  deeply 
engaged  in  revolving  every  means  by  which  the  cu- 
pidity of  the  governor  might  be  turned  to  his  own 
advantage. 

At  length  the  bolts  were  undrawn,  and  the  prison- 
er, fixing  his  eyes  upon  the  door,  behold  a  little  old 
man  enter,  with  withered  cheeks  and  sunken  eyes  ; 
a  greasy  nightcap  on  his  hea  ,  and  a  large  knife 
suspended  by  the  side  of  a  long  thin  sword,  which 
sometimes  trailed  upon  the  ground,  and  somelimes 
with  reiterated  blows  upon  the  tendons  of  his  mea- 
ger shanks,  seemed  to  reproach  them  for  the  bent 
and  cringing  posture  in  which  they  carried  the 
woodcock-hke  body  that  surmounted  them. 

'•  Well,  sir!"  said  De  Blenau,  not  a  little  disap- 
pointed with  this  apparition  5  "  are  you  the  per- 
son whom  the  governor  has  appointed  to  wait 
upon  me  V  .  ■' 

•  Qui,  monsieur,''  said  the  Httje  man,  laying  hia 


RICHELIEU.  ^  561 

hand  upon  his  heart,  with  a  profound  inclination 
of  his  head,  in  which  he  contrived  to  get  that 
organ  completely  out  of  sight,  and,  like  a  tor- 
toise, to  have  nothing  but  his  back  visible. 
•  Old,  monsieur  ;  1  am  cuumier  vivandier  that  is 
to  say,  formerly  vivandier;  at  present,  cuisinier 
aubergistie  id  a  la  parte  de  la  Bastille  tcut  pres.  I 
have  the  honour  to  furnish  the  dinner  for  mon- 
£eigneur,  and  I  have  come  for  the  plates  •' 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  !"'  cried  De  Blenau  5  '*  take 
tliem,  take  them,  my  good  friend,  and  begone.'' 

The  little  man  vowed  that  monseigneur  did 
him  too  much  honour,  and  gathering  up  his  dishes 
\vith  admirable  dexterity,  he  held  the  heap  with 
his  left  arm,  reserving  his  right  to  lay  upon  his 
heart,  in  which  position  he  addressed  another 
profound  bow  to  De  Blenau,  and  left  the  apart- 
ment. The  prisoner  now  waited  some  time,  get- 
ting more  and  more  impatient  as  the  day  wore 
on.  At  length,  however,  the  door  once  more 
opened,  and  Philip  the  woodman  himself  appear- 
ed. 

Between  Philip  and  the  young  count  there  was 
of  course  much  to-be  explained,  ^vhich,  requir- 
ing no  explanation  to  the  reader,  shall  not  be  here 
recapitulated.  Every  circumstance,  however,  that 
Philip  told,  whether  of  his  writing  the  letter  to 
inform  him  of  the  plots  of  Chavigni  and  Lafemas, 
or  of  the  manner  and  apparent  reason  of  his  be- 
ing dragged  from  his  cottage  to  the  Bastille,  con- 
curred to  give  De  Blenau  greater  confidence  in 
his  new  ally  :  and  perhaps  Philip  himself,  from 
having  suffered  a  good  deal  on  De  Blenau's  ac- 
count, felt^but  the  greater  inclination  to  hazard 
still  more.  Between  two  persons  so  inclined, 
preliminaries  are  soon  adjusted  :  nor  had  De  Ble- 
nau lime  to  proceed  with  diplomatic  caution, 
even  had  he  had  reason  to  suspect  the  sincerity 
of  the  woodman.  The  dangers  of  his  situation  ad- 
muted  no  fin«6se  ;  and,  overleaping .  all   ceremo 


2$2  RICHELIEU. 

r.ies.  he  at  once  demanded  if  Philip  would  and 
could  convey  a  letter  from  him  to  the  queen. 

or  his  willingness,  the  woodman  said,  there  was 
no  doubt;  and  after  a  moment's  ihooght  he  adiied, 
that  he  had  reason  to  hope  tha«:  oppo  tunity  also 
would  be  afforded  him.  '•  It  will  be  dangerous," 
said  he.  "  but  I  think   I  can  do  it.'" 

"  Tell  me  how.  good  friend,''  demanded  de  Ble- 
nau,  ''  and  depend  upon  it,  whatever  risks  you 
run  on  my  account,  whether  I  live  or  die,  you  will 
be  r-ewarded." 

••  1  want  no  reward,  sir,"  answered  Philip,  "  but 
a  good  cause  and  a  good  conscience  ;  and  I  am 
sure,  if  I  serve  you,  i  am  as  well  engaged  as  if  I 
were  cutting  all  the  fagots  in  Mantes.  But  my  plan 
is  this  ;  they  tell  me,  that  my  children  shall  always 
be  allowed  to  see  me.  jSlow  I  know  my  boy 
Charles,  who  is  as  active  as  a  picvert,  will  not  be 
long  before  he  follows  me.  He  vvjH  be  here  be- 
fore nightfall,  I  am  sure,  and  he  shall  lake  your  let- 
ter to  the  queen." 

De  Blenau  remained  silent  for  o  moment.  '-Was 
it  your  son  who  brousrht  your  letter  to  me  ?'  de- 
manded he.  The  woodman  assented  ;  and  tlie 
count  continued  :  "  he  was  a  shrewd  boy,  then. 
At  all  events,  it  must  be  risked.  Wait,  I  will 
write,  and  depend  upon  you." 

The  woodman,  however,  urged  that  if  he  staid 
so  lone,  suspicion  mi^ht  he  exf^ited  ,  and  Be  Ble- 
nau suffered  him  to  depart  d'^siri;>g  him  to  return 
in  an  hour,  when  the  letter  would  be  ready.  Dur- 
ing his  absence,  the  prisoner  wrote  tliat  epistle 
wiiich  we  have  already  seen  delivered.  In  it  he 
told  his  situ-ition.  and  the  nature  of  the  questions 
which  h^d  been  asked  him  by  l.afemas.  He  hint- 
ed also  that  his  fate  was  soon  likely  to  be  decided  ; 
and  desired, thatany  communication  which  it  might 
be  necessary  to  make  him.  might  be  conveyed 
through  the  woodman  of  Mantes. 

More  than  one  hour  elapsed  after  this  letter 
was  written  before  Philip  again  appeared.   When 


RICHELIEU.  263 

he  did  eo,  however,  he  seemed  in  eome  haste, 
"  Monsieur  le  Counte,"'  said  he,  "  my  son  is  here. 
Tl)ey  have  let  me  take  him  into  my  cell  to  rest, 
but  I  dare  not  be  absent  more  than  a  moment,  for 
fear  they  suspect  something.     Is  the  letter  ready  V' 

De  Blenau  placed  it  in  his  hand,  and  would  fiiin 
have  added  some  gold.  '•  The  queen  is  at  Chantil- 
ly,"  SJiid  he,  "and  your  son  will  want  money  for 
his  journey." 

"i\o,  no,  sir,"'  replied  Philip,^'  that  is  no  stuff  for 
a  child.  Let  liim  have  a  broad-piece,  if  you  like, 
to  help  him  on.  but  no  more." 

"  Well  then,"  said  the  count,  "  accept  the  rest 
for  your  services.     1  have  n^ore  in  that  valise." 

"  Not  so  either,  monseigneur,  answered  the  ^'ood- 
man.  "  Pay  for  what  is  done,  when  it  is  done  ;" 
and  taking  the  letter  and  one  gold  piece,  he  left  the 
apartment. 


F.Xl>    OF    VOLUME    I, 


Lane' 8    Uniform    Edition. 

RICHELIEU 

A  TALE  OF  FRANCE 

BY 

G.  P.  R,  JAMES,  ESQ. 

IN    TWO    VOLUMES. 
VOL.     II. 


SANDBORNTON,  N.  H. 

PUBLISHED    BY    CHARLES   LANE 

1$41. 


RICHELIEU. 


CHAPTER  I- 

Which  shoivs  (hat  Arcident  holds  Wisdom  by  the  leg,  and 
like  a  pi?  driver  vvilh  a  pig,  oflen  makes  Ucr  go  forward  by 
pulling  her  hack. 

The  heavy  cirriajje  which  conveyed  Pauline  de 
Beaumont  towards  Paris  rolled  on  with  no  great  ra- 

{)idity,  and  the  t'-Tie,  to  her  anxious  mind,  seemed 
engthen«d  t  an  inconceivable  degree.  Towards 
night,  every  little  town  they  entered  she  conceived 
to  be  *he  capital,  and  was  not  undeceived  till  Made- 
moiselle de  Hauteford  observed,  thai  they  had  set 
out  so  late  she  was  afraid  they  would  be  obliged  to 
■pass  the  night  at  Ecouen. 

-  In  her  companion  Pauline  found  but  little  to 
console  or  sooth  her  under  the  anxiety  and  fear 
which  the  dangerous  enterprise  she  had  undertaken 
naturally  produced.  Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford 
had  little  either  of  warmth  of  heart  or  gentleness  of 
diisposition  ;  and  such  were  the  only  qualities  which 
could  have  assimilated  with  Pauline's  feelings  at 
that  time. 

In  combating  the  passionate  love  with  which  the 
king  had  regarded  her,.  Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford 
had  entirely  triumphed  over  her  own  heart,  and 
having  crushed  every  human  sensation  that  it  con- 
tained; she  eubstituted  a  rigid   prtnciple  of  duty, 


4  ftlCHELIlse. 

which,  like  the  mainspring  of  a  piece  of  clockwork, 
originated  all  her  actions,  making  them  regular 
•without  energy  and  correct  them  -without  feeling. 

In  the  present  instance,  slie  seemed  to  look  upon 
the  tack  which  Pauline  had  undertaken  as  a  thing 
which  ought  to  be  done,  and  therefore  that  no  doubt 
or  hesitation  of  any  kit  d  couid  remain  upon  her 
mind.  She  talked  calmly  of  all  the  difficulties  and 
dangers  which  presented  themselves,  and  of  the 
best  means  of  obviating  ihem  ;  but  did  not  offer 
the  least  consolntion  to  the  fears  of  a  young  and  in- 
experienced girl,  who  had  taken  upon  "herself  a  bold 
and  perilous  enterprise,  in  which  her  own  happiness 
was  at  stake  as  well  as  the  lives  nnd  fortunes  of 
■others.  The  indifferent  coolness  with  which  she 
spoke  of  risks  and  obstacles,  was  far  from  reassur- 
ing Pauline,  who  soon  dropped  the  conversation, 
and  sinking  into  herself,  resolved  all  the  circum- 
stances in  her  mind  ;  her  heart  sometimes  beating 
high  with  hope,  sometimes  sickening  at  the  thought 
of  failure. 

Thus  in  silence  the  travellers  proceeded  to  Ecnu- 
en,  where,  from  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  they  were 
obliged  to  pass  the  nicht  :  but  leaving  it  early  the 
next  morning,  they  reached  Paris  in  a  short  time, 
and  alighted  at  the  hotel  of  the  Marchioness  de 
Senecy-  That  lady,  it  appeared,  was  absent,  hav- 
ing le(t  Paris  some  lime  before  for  a  distant  part  of 
the  country  :  but  this  was  no  disadvantage,  as 
Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford  was  well  knoTi-n  to  the 
servants  that  remained  in  the  house,  and  she  did 
not  in  the  least  hesitate  to  t-ike  up  her  abode  there 
on  the  service  of  the  queen,  though  the  mistress  of 
the  mansion  herself  was  absent. 

At  Ecouen.  Pauline  had  dressed  herself  in  the 
clothes  of  her  maid  Louise,  and  on  alighting  at  the 
ho'el  de  Sen'^cy,  was  taken  by  the  servants  lor  the 
smtbreiie  of  M"aden^o;selle  de  Hauteford.  All  this 
was  to  her  wish  ;  and  not  a  little  delighted  with  the 
first  success   of  her  disguise,  she  affected  th«  ten 


RICHEIIEO  6 

pays(cn,  and  treated  the  dcmestica  with  the  same 
familiarity  which  they  showed  towards  her. 

An  oldand  confidential  servant  of  tiie  queen  was 
tl:e  only  male  attendant  who  accompanied  them  to 
Paris,  and  he  took  especial  care  not  to  undeceive 
the  others  in  regard  to  Mademoiselle  de  Beau- 
mont's rank,  though  he  had  more  than  once  nearly 
betrayed  the  secret  by  smiling  at  the  lafiys  maid 
airs  which  Pauline  contrived  to  assume.  This  task, 
however,  A\ns  not  of  long  duration  ;  fcr  Pauline's 
anxiety  would  not  suffer  her  to  remain  inactive,  and 
she  accordingly  pressed  her  companion  to  S4?t  out 
speedily  for  the  Bastille,  atraid  that  under  any  long 
d«Iay  her  courage,  v\hich  sh-e  felt  to  be  failing  eve- 
ry moment,  might  give  way  entirely,  and  that  she 
might  at  length  prove  unequal  to  accomplish  her 
undertaking." 

iNIademoiselle  de  Hauteford,  whose  acquaintance 
with  the  city  qualified  her  to  act  as  guide,  readily 
agreed  to  proceed  immediately  on  their  e.'cpedi lion  j 
and  Pauli^ne's  disguise  as  soiibrette,  not  permitting 
lier  to  make  use  of  a  mask  like  her  companion,  she 
covered  her  head  as  far  as  she  could  with  a  large 
capuchin  of  brown  tafetas,  which,  however,  was  all- 
insufficient  (o  conceal  her  face.  This  being  done, 
she  followed  the  lady  of  honour  into  the  street,  and 
in  a  moment  froind  herself  immersed  in  all  the  bus- 
tle and  confusion  of  the  capital. 

Poor  Pauline's  senses  were  almost  bewildered  by 
the  crnwd  ;  but  Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford  lean- 
ing on  her  arm.  hurried  her  on  as  far  as  the  Rue  St. 
Antoine.  where  she  stopped  opposite  the  Church 
of  St.  <3revais,or  rather  the  narrow  dirty  street 
which  leads  towards  it. 

Here  she  directed  Pauline  straight  on  to  the  Bas- 
tille, and  pointing  c^ut  the  church,  told  her  that  she 
woukl  wait  ihere  for  her  return,  offering  up  prayers 
for  the  success  of  her  enterprise. 

The  magnificent  peristyle  of  the  Church  of  St. 
Gervaise,  which  the  celebrated  De  Brosse  is  said 
to  have  pronounced  the  most  perfect  of  bis  works,— 


e  BICHiillKU 

observing,  like  Solon  on  the  Athenian  Lawg,  that  it 
was  not,  indeed,  the  best  that  could  be  formed,  but 
the  best  tliat  could  be  adopted  to  the  old  gothic 
building  which  he  was  directed  to  improve, — was 
then  in  the  first  gloss  of  its  novelty,  and  among  the 
many  sombre  smoky  buildings  that  she  had  passed, 
offered  to  Pauline's  eye  a  bright  and  coaspif  uous 
landciark,  which  she  felt  sure  she  could  not  mistake. 
She  took,  however,  another  glance,  and  then  hurried 
on  towards  the  Bastille. 

Totally  ignorant  of  Paris,  and  all  that  it  contain- 
ed ;  young,  beaulir^ul,  and  timid;  engaged  in  an 
undertaking  full  of  danger  and  difficulty,  and  dress- 
ed iu  a  manner  to  which  she  was  unaccustomed  3 
Paulino  de  Beaumont  shrank  from  the  glance  ofihe 
numerous  passengers  that  thronged  the  Rue  St. 
Antoine  3  and  every  eye  v.jiich,  attracted  by  her 
loveliness,  or  by  the  frightened  haste  with  which 
she  proceeded,  gazed  on  her  with  more  than  coni- 
mon  attention,  she  fancied  could  see  into  her  bos- 
om, and  read  the  secret  she  was  so  anxious  to  con- 
ceal. 

At  length,  however,  her  eye  rested  on  a  group 
of  heavy  towers,  presenting  nothing  but  massy 
stone  walls,  pierced  with  loop-holes,  and  surmoun- 
ted at  various  distances  with  embrasures,  through 
the  aperture  of  which  the  threatening  mouths  of 
some  large  cannon  were  occasionally  visible. 
Sweeping  round  this  gloomy  building  was  a  broad 
fosse  filled  with  water,  which  prevented  all  ap- 
proach but  a*  one  particular  point,  where  a  draw- 
bridge, suspended  by  two  immense  chains,  gave 
access  to  the  outer  court.  But  even  here  no  small 
precaution  was  taken  to  guard  ngainst  any  wlio 
came  in  other  than  friendly  guise  3  for  the  gate 
which  terminated  the  bridge  on  the  inner  si''e,  be- 
sides the  security  afforded  by  its  ponderous  doors 
and  barricadoes,  possessed  two  flankin2;-tovvers,  the 
artillery  of  which  commanded  the  whole  course 
of  the  approach. 

Pauline  had  often  heard  the  Bastille  described, 


RICHELIEU.  7 

and  its  horrors  detailed  by  the  guests  who  occa- 
eionally  visited  her  mother's  chateau  in  Languedocj 
but  whatever  idea  she  had  formed  of  it,  the  frown- 
ing strength  and  gloomy  horrors  which  the  origin- 
al presented,  far  outdid  the  picture  her  imagina- 
tion had  drawn  ;  and  so  strong  was  the  sensation 
of  fear  which  it  produced  upon  her  mind,  that  she 
had  nearly  turned  back  and  run  away  the  moment 
she  beheld  it.  An  mstant's  reflection,  however, 
reawakened  her  courage. 

"Claude  de  Blenau/'  she  thought,  "immured 
within  those  walls !  and  do  I  hesitate  when  his  life, 
perhaps,  depends  upon  my  exertion  ?"  That  thought 
was  enough  to  recall  all  her  resolution  5  and  rap- 
idly crossing  the  drawbridge,  she  passed  what  is 
called  the  grille.  But  here  her  farther  progress  was 
stayed  by  a  massy  door  covered  with  plates  and 
studs  of  iron,  which  offered  none  of  those  happy 
contrivances  either  of  modern  or  ancient  days,  by 
which  people  within  are  called  upon  to  communi- 
cate with  people  without.  There  was  no  horn,  as 
in  the  days  of  chivalry,  and  if  there  had  been,  Pau- 
line could  not  have  blown  it ;  but  still  worse,  there 
was  neither  bell  nor  knocker  ;  and  the  door,  far 
from  imitating  the  gates  of  Dis,  in  standing  open 
night  and  day,  seemed  most  determinately  shut,  al- 
though the  comparison  might  have  held  in  many 
other  respects.  With  shaking  knees  and  trembling 
hands  Pauline  tried  for  some  moments  to  gain  ad- 
mission, but  in  vain.  The  gate  resisted  all  her 
weak  efforts,  her  voice  was  scarcely  audible,  and 
vexed,  wearied,  and  terrified,  and  not  knowing  what 
to  do,  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

At  about  a  hundred  yards  on  the  other  side  of 
the  fosse,  forming  one  corner  of  the  Rue  St.  Antoine, 
on  the  face  of  which  it  seemed  a  wart,  or  imposth- 
ume,  stood  a  little  narrow  house  of  two  stories 
high,  the  front  of  which  displayed  an  immense 
board  covered  with  a  curious  and  remarkable  de- 
vise. This  represented  no  other  than  the  form^'of 
aw   cnormou*  wild    boar,  with  a  knapkin  tucked 


8  RICUEUET. 

under  his  chin,  seated  at  a  table,  on  which  smok- 
ed various  savoury  dishes,  of  which  the  above  fero- 
cious gentleman  appeared  to  be  partaking  with  a 
very  wiid-boarish  appetite.  Underneath  all  v^as 
written,  in  characters  of  such  a  size  that  those 
who  run  might  read,  Au  sanglier  gourmand,  and 
then  followed  a  farther  inscription,  which  went  to 
state  that  Jacques  Chatpilleur,  autrefois  vivandier 
de  VAi^mee  de  Perpignan,  a  present  aubergiste  trai- 
iietir,  fed  the  hungry  and  gave  drink  to  those  that 
thirsted,  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night. 

Every  one  will  allow  that  this  man  must  have 
been  blessed  with  a  charitable  disposition  j  and  it 
so  happened  that,  standing  at  his  owu  door,  with? 
his  heart  opened  by  the  benign  influence  of  having 
cooked  a  dinner  for  the  Count  de  Blenau,  he  be* 
held  the  ineffectual  efforts  of  Pauline  ds  Beaumont 
to  gain  admission  into  the  Bastiile. 

The  DOor  little  man's  heart  was  really  moved  j 
and  skipping  across  the  drawbridge,  he  was  at  her 
side  in  a  moment.  "  What  seek  you,  charmante 
demoiselle?"  demanded  the  aubergiste,  making  her 
a  low  bow  ;  and  then  observing  her  tears,  he  added, 
"  Ma  pauvre  fiUe,  do  not  weep.  Do  you  wish  ta 
get  in  here  V' 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Pauline  j  "but  I  cannc  t 
make  them  hear." 

"There  are  many  who  want  to  get  out,  who 
cannot  make  them  hear  either,"  said  the  aubergis- 
te :  '-butthev  shall  hear  me,  at  all  events."  So^ 
sayinii.  he  drew  forth  his  knife,  with  a  flourish 
which  made  Pauline  start  back,  and  applied  the 
handle  with  such  force  to  the  gate  of  the  prison,, 
that  t.'^e  whole  place  echoed  with  the  blows.  Jm- 
mediatei"y,  a  little  wicket  was  opened,  and  \  se  head 
of  a  surly-looking  porter  presented  itself  to  the 
apperture. 

'•  Philip  the  woodman  !  Philip  the  woodman.!"" 
said  he.  as  soon  as  he  heard  Pauline's  inquiries. 
"  Who  is  he,  I  wonder  ?  We  have  nothing  to  do 
■with]  woodmen  here.    Oh,   i  remember  th«  maa- 


And  we  are  Inbreak  through  all  rules  and  regula- 
tions (or  him,  I  suppose  ?  But  I  can  tell  Monsieur 
Chavigni,  or  v/hoever  g;ive  the  order,  that  1  shall 
ni)t  turn  the  key  for  any  one  except  at  properliours  : 
so  you  cannot  see  liira  now,  young  woman — you 
cannot  see  him  now.'' 

"  And  is  not  this  a  proper  hour  V  asked  Pa<jline. 
"  I  thought  midday  was  the  best  time  1  could 
come." 

"  i><o  I"  answered  th"  porter,  "  I  tell  you  no,  my 
pretty  demoiselie  ;  this  is  the  dinner-hour,  so  you 
mustcome  again." 

'•  When  can  I  come  then,  sir  V  demanded  Pau- 
line, "  for  I  have  journeyed  a  long  way  to  see 
him." 

•'  "Why,  then  you  are  in  need  of  rest/'  replied  the 
other,  '-so  you  will  he  all  the  belter  for  waiting  till 
evening.  Come  about  seven  o'clock,  and  you  shall 
see  him." 

"  Cannot  I  see  him  before  that  ?"  asked  the 
youn;r  lady,  terrified  at  the  delay. 

'•?^-^ !  no  V  lio  !"  rolled  the  porter,  and  turned 
.to  siiUt  the  tvi-'-ketj  but  bethinking  him  for  a  mo- 
ment, he  called  alter  Mademoiselle  de  Beaumont 
— >  •  Wlio  shall  I  tell  him  -.vanls  him,  when  ]  see 
him  ?"' 

i^  inline  was  unprepared  with  an  answer,  but  the 
iioce>.:ity  of  the  moment  m  ide  her  reply,  '•'  His 
•lauihtfir  j"  trustin*  that,  as  there  must  be  some 
uadsrslanding  between  him  and  De  Blenau.  the 
woodman  would  conceive  her  errand  and  not  be- 
tray any  surprise,  whether  he  had  a  daughter  or 
not. 

During  this  conversation,  the  diibergiste  h-xd  re* 
mained  hard  by,  really  compassionating  Pauline's 
dis.ippointme'^t. 

'■  Mapauvrefille''  ?aid  he,  as  the  wio.ket  closed. 
'••  am  very  toir-  that  they  treat  you  .■?«>;  but  they  are 
gre^t  brutes  in  these  prisons.  Bo7t  Dieti  !  you  lo<  k 
very  pale.     Come  in  with   me   here    to   my   liitjg 

VOL   Ji.  2 


10  mCHELlEIL 

place,  and  take  some  soup,  and  rest  yourself  till 
the  time  comes  round." 

Pauline  thanked  him  for  his  offer,  but  declined  it, 
of  course  5  telling  him,  that  si, e  was  going  to  the 
house  (if  a  friend  who  waited  lor  her  5  and  then 
taking  leave  of  the  good  aiibergiste,  ahe  left  him  in- 
teresied  in  her  sorrow,  and  enchanted  by  her  own 
sweet  manner. 

'•  La  pauvreite  !''  said  he,  as  he  turned  him  home, 
"  Elle  a  bein  lair,  dime  femme  de  qxialili  ^a.  11  y 
a  (juelque  chose  la  dessous.  cuje  me  trompeJ' 

In  the  mean  while,  Pauline  returned  to.  the 
church  of  St.  Gervais,  where  she  found  Mademois- 
elle de  Hauteford  still  on  her  kr.ces  in  the  Chapel 
cf  St.  Denis. 

Paulines  recital  of  what  liad  happened,  called 
forth  but  few  remarks  Irom  her  companion,  who 
only  observed,  that  seven  would  be  nn  unpleasant 
hour,  for  that  by  that  lime  night  began  to  fuj.  To 
^lademoiselle  de  Beaumont,  tiowever,  i:ight  seem- 
ed more  favourable  to  her  enterprise  than  day,  when 
the  trepidation  which  she  felt  was  visible  to  every 
passing  eye  3  and  sl;e  congratulated  herself  on  the 
prospect  ol  the  darkness  covering  the  agitation 
which  might  lead  to  suspicion  if  observed. 

1  sliall  not  follow  th.c  two  ladies  through  the  re- 
maining part  of  t!ie  da_v.  Suffice  !i,  that  Mademoi- 
selle de  Hauteford  employed  herself  in  preparations 
for  the  long  journey  which  the  cardinal  s  sentence 
of  banishment,  required  be- to  take,  nnd  that  Pau- 
line's time  pass  d  in  anxiety  and  apprehension,  till 
the  hour  came  for  her  once  more  to  visit  the  Bis- 
tilie. 

As  soon  as  the  long  l.r.nJ  uprm  the  dial  pcin'cd 
towards  the  Roman  capi^ais  iX.  and  the  thorter 
one  to  VII.  the  two  iad.os  set  cut  in  the  jjiuue 
cuise,  and  on  the  same  rcute.  as  in  iho  niornin^', 
with  only  this  dillerence  in  their  proceedings,  that 
the  old  domestic  of  llie  queen,  wt^o  lijul  accompa- 
nied ilirm  lo  Faria,  received   orders  it»  fcilow  at  1 


mcHELIEtJ.  11 

few  paces  distance,  well  armed  with  sword  and 
pistol. 

It  was  now  quite  dark,  and  the  streets  not  being 
60  crowded  as  when  she  before  passed  llirough 
them,  Pauline  proceeded  more  calmly,  except  vvjien 
the  torch-bearers  of  some  of  the  gay  world  of  Paris 
flashed  their  flambeaux  in  her  e^es  as  they  lighted 
their  lords  .long  to  party  or  spectacle.  At  the 
Cliurch  of  St.  Gervais  siie  again  left  Mademoiselle 
de  Hauteiord  with  the  servant;  and  now.  well  ac- 
quainted ■  with  the  way,  ran  lightly  along  till  she 
arrived  at  the  Bastille,  where,  not  giving  her  resolu- 
tion time  to  fiiil,  she  passed  the  drawbridge,  and 
entered  the  (i'.iter  gate,  which  was  at  that  moment 
open.  Before  her  stood  the  figure  of  the  porter, 
enjoying  the  cool  evening  air  that  blew  tiiiough 
the  open  gate  into  the  court.  His  hand  rested  up- 
on the  edge  of  the  door,  and  the  moment  Pauline 
entered,  he  pushed  it  to  with  a  clang  that  made  her 
heart  sink. 

*■  Whom  have  we  here,"  said  he,  "  that  comes  in 
so  boldly  ?  Oh,  so  I  is  it  you,  mar  belle  demoiselle  i" 
U^  continued,  as  the  light  of  the  lanterns  which 
hung  under  the  arch  fell  upf)n  her  countenance  : — 
*'  well,  you  shall  s  e  your  lather  now.  But  first,  I 
think  you  had  better  go  and  speak  to  the  governor; 
he  is  a  m.in  of  tas'e,  and  would  like  such  a  pretty 
prisoner,  no  doubt;  perhaps  he  miglit  hnd  a  war- 
raiit  for  your  detention  " 

Pauline's  heart  sank  at  the  idea  of  being  carried 
before  the  governor,  well  knowing  how  little  com- 
petent she  was  to  answer  any  inquiries  concerning 
her  errand  ,  but  the  excess  of  lear  will  often  give 
courage,  and  the  most  timid  ai.imals  turn  and  resist 
when  pressed  to  extremity.  Thus  Pauline  sum- 
moned up  all  her  resolution,  and  remembering  the 
allusion  whicn  the  porter  had  made  to  Chavigni's 
orders  in  favour  of  the  woodman,  slie  replied  bold- 
ly :  '•  This  is  no  time  for  jesting,  sir !  and  as  to  de- 
taining me,  it  v.'ould  bo  as  much  as  the   governor's 


12  RICUEULD 

post  is  worth,  if  it  came  to  Monsieur  de  Chavigni'a 
ears,  that  he  ever  thought  of  such  a  thing." 

"  So,  eo  !"  cried  tlie  porter  with  a  grin,  *•'  you  are 
a  friend  of  Monsieu;  de  Chavigni's.  So — i  thought 
there  was  something  made  him  so  careful  of  yon 
sour  old  woodman.  These  great  statesmen  must 
have  their  little  relaxations.  So  that  is  it,  mademo- 
iselie  ?  He  takes  -special  care  of  the  father  for 
the  daughter's  sake," 

There  was  a  drop  or  two  of  the  warm  blood  of 
Lan;^uedoc  flowing  in  Pauline's  vein's  wiih  all  her 
gentleness,  and  her  patienre  now  became  complete- 
ly exhausted.  "  Well,  sir  !  '  she  answered,  *•  ail  I 
have  to  say  to  you  is.  (hat  if  1  meet  with  any  inso- 
lence; it  may  cost  you  dear.  So  bring  me  to  see 
my  father,  or  refuse  me  at  o!»ce." 

'■  1  cm  not  g;>ing  to  refuse  you,  nrv  pretty  dem- 
oiselle," replied  the  porter  j  "  li^oiigh,  truly,  you 
speak  more  like  a  lady  «;f  quality  than  a  \\ooduinn's 
daughter.  Inow  Til  swear  you  are  Madame  la  Com- 
te-se's  stdrvante.  INay,  do  not  toss  your  heaJ  so 
impatieiitly  ;  your  father  will  be  here  in  a  minute 
he  knows  of  your  having  called  at  the  wirkei  this 
morning,  and  is  to  come  .here  fo  see  vou  at  seven — 
But  here  is  ihe  governor,  as  I  live — going  to  take  a  \ 
twilight  walk,  I  suppose." 

As  he  spoke,  the  governor  approached  :  '•'  Whom 
have  yf  II  .,'ot  here,  porter  ?"  he  asked,  while  ha  ey- 
ed Pauline  with  a  cool  luxurious  glance  that  made 
her  shrink. 

"  This  is  the  woodman's  daughter,  sir,"  replied 
the  man,  "  who  wishes  to  speak  with  her  fither." 

*•  By  the  keys  of  St.  Peter  3  which  are  something 
in  my  own  way,'' exclaimed  the  governor,'*  thou  a-l 
a  beautiful  diughter  for  a  woodman.  Art  thou  sure 
thy  moiher  did  not  help  thee  to  a  better  parentage  ? 
What  is  ihy  father's  name  ?" 

Territied,  co:itii^ed,  and  ignorant  of  the  wood- 
man's name,  Pauiine  faltered  forth  unconscious  of 
what  she  said,  "I  do  not  know." 

'•  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  thou  sayest  well,  my  pretty  dwn- 


RICftELIEU.  IS 

sel,"  cried  the  governor,  laughing,  and  thinking 
that  she  answered  his  jest  in  kind.  "  It  is  a  wise 
father  that  knows  his  own  child-,  and  why  not  a 
wise  child  that  knows  his  own  father  ?  But  with- 
out a  joke,  what  is  your  supposed  filher's  name  ?" 

"  My  supposed  father  !"  repeated  Pauline,  in  the 
same  state  of  perturbation  5  "  Oh,  Philip,  the.wood- 
man." 

''  Nay,  nay,*'  replied  the  governor,  "  that  does 
not  answer  my  meaniiig  cither.  What  is  the  sur- 
name of  this  Pliilip  the  woodman  1" 

The  impossibility  of  answering  overpowered  her, 
Pauline  had  not  the  most  remote  idea  of  Philip's 
name,  and  another  instant  would  indubitably  have 
betrayed  all ;  but  at  the  moment  the  governor  ask- 
ed his  question,  Philip  had  entered  the  court.  He 
had  heard  the  last  sentence,  saw  Pauline's  embar- 
rassment, and  divining  its  cause,  with  quick  pres- 
ence of  mind  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her 
on  bolh  cheeks,  with  that  sort  of  fatherly  affection 
which  would  have  deceived  the  governor's  eyes  by 
day,  much  less  by  the  fainter  light  of  the  lanterns 
in  the  archway. 

"  My  dear  child,"  cried  lie,  ''how  art  thou  ?  and 
how  is"  thy  mother  ?"  And  then  turning  to  the 
governor,  without  giving  her  time  to  reply,  he  went 
on,  "  My  name,  sir,  which  you  were  asking  but 
now,  is  Philip  Griesolles  ;  but  I  am  better  known 
by  the  name  of  Philip  the  woodman,  and  some 
folks  add  the  name  of  the  wood,  and  call  me  Phil- 
ip the  woodman  of  Mantes." 

"Philip  Grissoles !"  said  the  governor)  "very 
well,  that  will  do.  It  was  your  surname  that  I 
wished  to  know,  for  it  is  not  put  down  in  tiie  order 
for  your  detention,  and  it  must  be  inserted  in  the 
books.  And  now.  Monsieur  Philip  Grissoles,  you 
may  take  your  daughter  to  y<>ur  cell ;  but  remem- 
ber that  you  have  to  wait  upon  the  Count  de  Ble- 
nau  in  half  an  hour,  by  which  lime  I  shall  have  re- 
turned. You  can  leave  your  daughter  in  your  cell 
.till  you  have  done  attending  the  count,  if  you  like," 


14  RICHELIEtL 

He  then  proceeded  to  tlie  gate,  and  beckoning- 
to  the  porter,  he  wiiispered  to  him.  "  Do  not  let 
her  go  out  till  1  come  back.  It  is  seldom  that  we 
have  any  thing  like  that  in  the  Bastille  1  Doubt- 
less, that  woodman  would  be  glad  to  have  her  with 
him  ;  if  so,  we  will  find  her  a  cell."' 

Philip  turned  his  eir  to  catch  what  the  governor 
was  sayings  but  not  l)eing  able  to  hear  it  distinctly, 
he  addressed  himself  to  Pauline  loud  enough  to 
reach  every  one  round.  ••Come,"  said  he.^'jna 
Jille.  you  a.'e  frightened  at  all  tliese  towers  and  walls 
and  ;)laces  ;  but  it  is  not  so  u'ipleasant  after  one  is 
in  it  either.  Take  my  arm,  and  I'll  show  you  the 
wav.'' 

Pauline  was  glad  to  accept  of  his  offer,  for  her 
steps  faltered  so  much  that  she  could  hardly  have 
proceeded  without  assistance  :  and  thus,  lean.n<r  on 
the  woodman,  she  was  slowly  conducted  throuirh  a 
great  many  narrow  passages,  to  the  small  vaulted 
chamber  in  which  ne  was  lodged. 

As  soon  as  they  had  entered,  the  woodman  shut 
the  door,  and  placing  for  Pauline's  us-  the  only 
chair  that  the  room  contained,  he  began  to  pour 
forth  a  thousand  excuses  for  tiie  liberty  he  had  tak- 
en with  her  cheek.  '•  1  hope  you  will  consider, 
mademoiselle,  that  there  was  no  other  way  for  me 
to  act,  in  order  to  bring  us  out  of  the  bad  y^b  we 
had  fallen  into.  'The  porter  of  the  prison  tojd  me 
this  morning  that  my  daughte-  was  cpming  to  see 
me.  and  knowing  very  well  I  had  no  daughter.  I 
guessed  that  it  was  some  one  on  the  Count  de  Ble-» 
nau's  account;  but  little  did  I  think  it  was  you, 
mademoiselle — you  that  1  saw  in  the  wood  of 
Mantes  on  the  day  he  was  wounded." 

Pauline  was  still  too  much  agitated  with  all  that 
had  passed  to  make  any  reply,  and  sitting  with  her 
hands  pressed  over  her  eyes,  her  thoughts  were  all 
confusion,  though  one  terrible  remembrance  still 
predominated,  that  she  was  there — in  the  very  heart 
of  the  Bastille — far  from  all  those  on  whom  she  was 
accustomed  to  rely— habited  ia  a  disguise  foreign 


IllCHMXTEll.  15 

tQ  her  rank — acting  an  assumed  character,  and  en- 
gasred  in  an  enterprise  of  life  and  death. 

Ail  this  was  present  to  her,  not  so  much  as 
a  thought,  but  as  a  feeling;  and  for  a  moment  or 
two  it  deprived  her  not  only  of  utterance,  hut  of  re- 
flectioa.  As  her  mind  grew  more  calm,  ho'Vever, 
the  g'-eat  object  for  which  she  came  began  again  to 
recover  the  asoendfincy  :  and  slie  gradually  regaia- 
ed  sufficient  commiad  over  her  ideas  to  compre- 
hend the  nature  of  the  excuses  which  Philin  was 
still  offering  for  his  presump'ion.  as  he  termed  it. 

"  You  did  perfectly  right,"  replied  Pauline  ;  "  and, 
having  extricated  us  from  admg-erous  predicament, 
merit  my  sincere  thanks.  But  now,"  she  continued, 
"without  loss  of  time  I  must  see  the  Count  de 
Blenau." 

"  See  the  Count  de  Blenau  !"  exclaimed  Philip, 
in  astonishment.  "  Impossible,  mademoiselle  1 
Utterly  impossible  !  1  can  deliver  a  letter  or  a 
message  ;  but  tint  is  all  I  can  do." 

'•  VVljy  not  ?"  demanded  Pauline.  "  For  pity's 
sake,  do  not  trifle  with  me.  If  you  have  free  ad- 
mission to  his  prison,  why  cannot  you  open  the 
way  to  me  ?" 

"  Because,  mademoiselle,  there  is  a  sentinel  at 
his  door  who  would  nnt  allow  vnu  to  pass,"  replied 
Philip.  "  I  have  no  wisli  to  trifle  with  you,  indeed  j 
but  what  you  ask  is  merely  impossible." 

Pauline  thought  for  a  moment.  "  Cannot  we 
bribe  the  sentinel  !"  she  demanded.  "  Here  is 
gold." 

"  That  is  not  to  be  done  either,  answered  Phil- 
ip.  '•  He  is  not  allowed  to  speak  to  any  one,  or  any 
one  to  speak  to  him.  The  first  word,  his  fusil 
would  be  at  my  breast ;  and  the  second,  he  would 
fire  :  such  are  his  orders,  mademoiselle,  and  be 
sure  he  would  obey  them;" 

"  Well  then,"  cried  Pauline,  "  fly  to  the  Count 
de  Blenau,  tell  him  that  there  is  a  lady  here  from 
the  queen,  with  a  letter  which  she  must  not  trust  to 
any  one  elie,  and  ask  him  what  is  to  be  don«— but 


1§  RICJIEMEU. 

do  not  stay  long,  for  I  am  afraid  of  remaining  here 
by  myself." 

The  woodman  promised  not  in  be  a  moment,  and 
hastened  to  the  Count  de  Bienau's  apartment, 
where  tlie  wary  sentinel,  as  usunl.  exnmincd  him 
well  to  aacertiiin  his  identity  hefore  lie  gave  him 
admission.  He  then  entered  ami  communicated  aa 
rapidly  as  possible  to  De  Blenau  the  message  he 
had  received. 

"  It  is  Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford,  with(»ut 
doubt,"  said  de  Blenau,  thoughtfully  ;  "  1  must  see 
her  by  all  means." 

"  See  her,  sir  I"  exclaimed  Philip.  '•  The  guard 
will  never  let  her  pas-s.     It  is  quite  impossible.' 

"  ]S^ot  so  impossible  as  you  think.  The  gates  of 
the  inner  court  do  nut  sliut,  1  think,  till  nearly  nine 
—Is  there  any  one  m  the  court  V 

"  ]Vo  one,  sir,"  answered  the  wondajan  ;  "  all  the 
state  prisoners  were  locked  up  at  six." 

'•'  Well  then,  Philip,"  proceeded  De  Blenau,  '•  do 
you  know  a  small  tower  in  the  court,  where  you 
just  see  through  the  archway  part  of  an  old  flight  of 
steps  ?■' 

"  Oh  yes.  I  know  it  well,"  replied  Philip.  "  The 
tower  is  never  used  now,  they  tell  me.  There  is  a 
heap  of  "ubbiih  in  the  doorway." 

"  K.Kictly,"  said  the  rount.  "Now,  my  good 
Philip,  bring  the  lady  with  all  speed  to  that  tower, 
and  up  the  oh  flight  of  steps  till  you  co  ne  to  a 
small  iron  door  :  push  that  with  your  hand,  and  you 
will  find  that  it  brings  you  into  the  inner  room 
where  I  will  wait  for  \ou." 

Philip's  joy  and  astonishment  found  vent  in  three 
Bon  dieii's  !  and  three  Est- il  possible's,  and  rnsliing 
away  without  more  li>ss  of  lime,  he  flew  to  Pauline, 
whose  stay  in  his  cell  had  bpen  undisturbeil  by  any 
thing  but  h'^r  own  an\ious  fears.  These,  however, 
magnified  every  sound  in!o  the  approach  of  some 
one  t»  be  dreaded.  Even  the  footstep  of  th.e  wood- 
man made  her  heart  beat  with  alarm  j  but  the  news 
he  brought  far  more  than  compensated  f©r  it,  and. 


niCHELIEtJ.  17 

inspired  with  new  hope,  she  followed  him  gladly 
through  the  gloomy  passages  which  led  to  the  inner 
court. 

'J'he  darkness  which  pervaded  the  unlighfed 
avenues  of  the  Bastille  was  so  great,  that  Pauline 
was  obliged  to  follow  close  upon  Pliilip's  footsieps 
for  fear  of  losing  her  way.  The  woodinan.  howov- 
ever,  was  a  little  in  advance,  when  a  faint  liglit 
showed  that  tliey  were  approaching  the  open  air, 
and  Pauline  began  to  catch  an  indistisict  glimpse  of 
the  dark  towers  that  surrounded  the  inner  court. 
But  at  tliat  moment  Philip  drew  back  :  "  There  is 
some  one  in  the  cou't,'  he  whispered  : — "  Hark  !" 
and  listening,  she  clearly  heard  the  sound  of  meas- 
ured steps  crossing  the  open  space  before  her. 

''  Jt  is  the  guard."  said  the  woodman,  in  th.e  same 
low  voice;  ''  they  aie  going  to  relieve  the  s^entinel 
at  the  count's  door."  He  now  waited  till  they 
were  heard  ascending  the  stairs,  and  then,  "  Quick, 
follow  me  across  the  court,  mademoiselle,  he  said  ; 
"for  they  go  through  this  passage  on  their  return." 

Pauline  was  about  to  follow  him  as  he  desired, 
but  her  dress  caught,  upon  one  of  the  staples  of  the 
doorway.  Philip  attempted  to  disentangle  it  for 
her.  but  in  vain,  his  efforts  only  fi.ved  it  the  more. 
Pauline  herself  tried  to  tear  it  away,  but  the  sou- 
brette's  stout  serge  dress  would  not  tear.  In  the 
mean  lime  they  l.eard  the  '•  Qui  vive?''  of  tbe  sen- 
tinel, the  countersign  returned,  the  re'ief  of  the 
guard  ;  and  by  the  lime  that  Philip  had  by  main 
strength  torn  away  the  dress  from  the  staple  that 
had  caught  it.  the  steps  of  the  soldiers  were  again 
henrd  descending  the  staircase  from  the  prison  of 
Do  Blenau. 

"  For  God's  snUe,  mademoiselle/"  whispered  the 
woodman,  *'  run  back  as  qnuVly  as  you  can  to  my 
cell;  for  we  canm.t  pass  now  without  their  seeing 
us.  I  will  wait  here,  for  thev  would  hear  my  heavy 
feet  in  the  passape,  and  follow  us  bo;h  ;  but  if  I 
can  stop  them  a  while  I  will,  to  give  you  time." 

Pauline  doubted  not  that  she  could  remember  the 


18  RICHELIEO, 

turnings,  and,  gliding  along  as  fast  as  possible,  she 
endeavoured  to  find  her  way  back.  As  she  went, 
she  heard  some  words  p^s3  between  Philip  and  the 
.Tuard  ;  and  immediately  after  she  distinguished  that 
they  had  entered  the  passage,  for  the  echoingtramp 
of  thf^ir  feet,  reverbarated  b-  the  low  arches,  seem- 
ed following  close  upon  her.  Terrified  and  agitat- 
ed, she  flew  on  with  the  speed  of  lightning.  But 
we  all  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  retrace  any  course 
we  have  pursued  in  the  dark  5  and  in  her  haste  and 
confusion  Pauline  lost  the  turning  she  oujht  to 
have  taken,  and,  afraid  of  going  back,  even  after 
she  discovered  her  loistake,  she  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment in  a  state  ot  alarm  and  suspense,  little  short 
of  agony. 

She  could  nowd'stinctly  hear  the  guard  approach- 
ing, aui  not  kcjowing  where  t  lO  passage  mi^hl  ter- 
minate, or  what  mizht  obsirLi;t  the  path,  she  felt 
her  way  with  her  hind  along  .iie  wall,  till  at  length 
she  discovered  a  small  recess,  apparently  one  of 
those  archways  which  gave  entrance  to  the  various 
cells,  for  beneath  her  fingers  she  felt  the  massy 
uolts  and  fasLeaings  which  secured  it  from  without. 
She  had  scirce  a  moment  to  tliink,  but,  placing 
herself  under  the  arch,  she  drew  back  as  far  as 
possible,  in  the  hope  that  sheltered  by  the  recess, 
and  Cijncealed  by  tha  darkness,  the  guard  would 
pass  her  by  unnoticed. 

It  was  a  dreadful  raomant  for  poor  Pauline.  The 
soldiers  were  not  so  near  as  t!ie  echoes  of  the  place 
had  le  1  her  to  imagine  ;  and  she  had  several  min- 
utes to  wait.  hullinT  her  breath,  and  ilrawing  her- 
self in,  as  if  to  nothing,  while  the  tramp  of  the  arm- 
ed feet  came  nearer  and  nearer,  till  at  length  she 
felt,  or  fancie  1  that  slie  felt,  their  clothes  brush 
against  her  as  they  passed ;  and  then  heard  their 
steps  becommg  fiinter  and  more  faint  as  they  pro- 
ceeded to  some  other  part  of  the  building. 

It  was  not  till  all  was  again  silent,  that  Pauline 
ventured,  still  trembling  with  the  danger  she  had 
ju3t  escaped,  to  seek  once   more  the  path  she  had 


RICHELIEU,  19 

lost  in  lier  terror.  But  her  search  was  now  in  vain; 
she  had  entirely  forgot  the  turnings  that  she  had 
taken  in  Iter  flight,  and  in  the  darkness  only  went 
wandering  on  from  one  passage  to  another,  starting 
at  every  sound,  and  always  convinced  that  she  was 
mistaken,  but  not  knowing  in  what  direction  to 
seek  the  right. 

At  lengtn,  however,  she  found  herself  at  a  gate- 
way which  led  into  what  seemed  an  open  court, 
and  imagining  from  the  towers  she  saw  round  about, 
that  she  had  arrived  once  more  at  the  spot  from 
which  she  had  been  frightened  by  the  approach  of 
the  guards,  she  resolved  again  to  seek  more  cau- 
tiously tlie  cell  of  the  woodman,  to  which,  of  course, 
he  would  return  in  search  of  her.  But  as  she  turn- 
ed to  put  this  resolve  in  execution,  she  perceived  a 
light  coming  down  the  passage  towards  her  ;  and 
without  giving  herself  a  moment  to  reflect  that  it 
might  possibly  be  the  wtiodman  himself,  fear  seiz- 
ed her  again,  and  darting  across  the  court,  she  look- 
ed round  for  some  pi  ice  of  concealment. 

Exactly  opposite  she  perceived  another  archway 
similar  to  the  one  she  had  left,  and  concealing  lier- 
self  within  it,  she  paused  to  see  who  it  was  that 
followed,  it  just  occurring  to  her  mind  at  that  in- 
stant, that  periiaps  she  was  in  full  career  away  from 
the  very  person  she  wishrd  to  find.  But,  the  mo- 
ment after,  tiie  light  appeared  in  the  archway,  and 
glancing  on  the  fico  of  the  man  who  carried  it,  dis- 
covered to  her  the  features  of  the  governor. 

This  sight  was  not  calculated  to  allay  her  fears  ; 
but  her  alarm  was  infinitely  increased  when  she 
perceived  ihit  he  began  crossing  the  court  towards 
the  spot  where  she  stood.  Flight  again  became 
her  resource,  and.  turning  to  escape  through  the 
passages  to  which  she  supposed  that  archway  led, 
as  well  as  the  others,  she  struck  her  foot  against 
some  steps  and  had  nearly  fallen.  Recovering 
herself,  however,  without  loss  of  time  she  began 
ascending  the  steps  that  lay  before  her,  nor  stop- 
pad,  till  reach ipg  a  small  landing-place,  she  look- 


20  ftlCHELIEU, 

ed  through  one  of  the  loopholes  in  the  wall,  and 
beheld  the  governor  directing  his  course  to  anoth- 
er part  of  the  buiidinsT. 

Satisfied  that  he  did  not  follow  her,  but  fiint  and 
out  of  breath  with  the  speed  she  had  employed  in 
her  flight,  Pauline  paused  for  a  moment's  repose; 
and  stretching  out  her  hand,  she  leaned  against  a 
door  which  stood  at  tiie  top  of  the  staircase  : — 
liowever,  it  aff*. riled  her  no  support,  for  the  mo- 
ment she  touched  it,  it  gave  way  under  her  hand, 
and  flyin:^  open,  discovered  to  her  a  well-lighted 
apartment.  jNew  (error  seized  upon  Pauline  ;  her 
eyes  were  dazzled  by  the  sudden  glare,  and  draw- 
in  ^  bacli  she  would  have  fallen  headlonz  down 
tlie  stairs,  but  at  that  instant  she  was  caught  in  the 
arms  ofDe  Blenau. 


CHAPTER  II. 


Whici*  S«t»  Pauline  out  aod  Philip  in,  and  leaves  De  Blenau 
in  (lie  middle. 


The  tumult  of  joy  and  surprise — the  mutual  ex- 
planations— the  delight  of  De  Blenau — the  relief 
of  Pauline— with  the  thousand  little  et  cetera  of 
such  a  meeting,  I  must  leave  to  the  reader's  ira- 
aginntion,  which  will  doubtless  do  much  more  jus- 
tice to  every  circumstance  than  could  the  quill  of  a 
foolish  bird  such  as  1  hold  in  rav  hand.  Neither 
shall  I  dilate  upon  the  surprise  of  Philip  iho  wood- 
man, when,  on  coming  to  inform  De  Blennu  that 
he  had  lost  the  lady  in  the  windings  of  ilie  Bastille, 
he  discovered  that  she  had  found  her  way  to  the 
object  6f  her  search   without  bis  sa^e  ^guidance, 


RlCHELlKa  2l 

One  piece  of  infcrmation,  however,  he  conveyed, 
whiclv  hurried  their  conference  towards  a  conclu* 
sion.  The  governor,  he  siiid;  wlio  had  heen  absent^ 
had  returned,  and  was  then  engaged  in  visiting  the 
western  wards  ;  and  therefore  he  might  be  shortly 
expected  in  that  part  of  the  prison. 

This  unpalateable  news  reminiled  Pauline  to  de» 
liver  the  letter  from  the  queen,  which  in  the  joy 
tlnJ  agitation  of  their  first  meeting  she  had  neglect- 
ed to  do.  De  Blenau  looked  it  over  with  a  horrid 
glance.  "  She  commands  me,  said  he,  ''  to  con* 
fess  all  exactly  as  it  occurred  ;  but  on  one  or  two 
points  I  have  already  refused  to  answer,  and  if  I 
do  so  now  without  producing  the  queen's  warrant 
for  uiy  conduct,  J  shall  be  held  a  base  cowafd,  who 
betrays  his  trust  for  fear  of  the    torture.'" 

'•  And  do  you  hesitate,  Claude  V  demanded  Pau- 
line, rather  reproachfully — •'•  do  you  hesilate  to  tnke 
the  only  means  which  can  save  you  ?  Do  you  think 
nothing  of  what  1  feel  ?  You,  Claude,  may  be 
proof  against  corporeal  torture  ;  but  I  cannot  en- 
dure much  longer  the  mental  agony  1  have  suffered 
since  you  have  been  confined  here,  especially 
when  I  reflected  that  even  while  you  were  acimg 
m.'St  nobly,  I  was  suspecting  you  ungenerously.  If 
you  love  me  as  you  profess,  dear  Claude,  you  vv^ill 
take  the  means  that  tlie  queen  directs  to  ensure 
your  safety." 

"  Well,' dearest  Paulihe,"  replied  De  Blenau, 
yielding  to  the  all-persuasive  eloquence  of  woman's 
lips,  '•  I  will  do  as  you  wish,  and  endeavour  to  pur- 
sue such  measures  as  will  be  both  safe  and  honora- 
ble. But  now  conclude  what  you  were  telling  me, 
of  having  lost  yourself  in  the  prison,  and  how  you 
found  your  way  hither." 

It  may  be  necessary  to  explain,  that  while  tliis 
conversation  had  taken  place  between  De  Blenau 
and  Pauline  in  the  inner  ap  irtment,  Philip  the 
woodman  had  remained  in  the  outer  cham!»er, 
keeping  watch  with  his  ear  to  the  door  wiiich 
communicated  with   Ihe  staircase,   in  order  to  ap 


52  tllOflfiLIED. 

prize  them  in  time  of  the  governor's  approach,  Paii- 
line  now  had  not  time  to  conclude  her  little  histo - 
ry  of  perilous  escapes  and  dangers  ere  Philip,  en- 
tering from  the  outer  chamber  interrupted  her  : 
"Fly  down  the  stairs,  mademoiselle,"  critd  he, 
'•■  and  wait  at  the  bottom  till  I  join  you.  The  gov- 
ernor is  coming,  for  I  hear  other  steps  on  the  stairs 
as  well  as  those  of  the  sentinel  at  the  top." 

Prisons  are  not  places  lor  great  ceremonies,  nor 
for  all  the  mighty  delicacies  of  general  society  ;  so 
Pauline  suffered  Dc  Blenau  to  press  his  lips  upon 
hers  unreproved.  and  then  tied  down  the  back  stair- 
case witii  the  speed  of  light;  after  which  the  count 
shut  and  bolted  the  iron  door,  and  passed  into  (he 
outer  chamber,  while  the  woodman  bustled  about 
in  the  inner  one,  arranging  the  count's  apparel  lor 
the  night,  and  appearing  much  more  busy  than  he 
really  was. 

Tims  every  thing  was  as  it  should  be  when  the 
governor  eiUered  ;  but  still  there  was  an  angry  spot 
upon  his  brow,  and  with  but  a  slight  inc)ination  to 
De  Blenau,  he  looked  through  the  door  between 
the  two  chambers,  saying.  "  Well,  Mr.  Woodman 
of  Mantes,  where  is  your  daughter  ?  She  is  not  in 
your  cell." 

"  You  have  made  sure  of  that  in  person,  I  suppose, 
replied  Philip,  in  his  usual  surly  manner. 

"  Whether  I  have  or  not."  answered  the  gover- 
nor, "does  but  little  signify.  I  ask  where  is  your 
daughter  ?  We  must  have  no  strangers  wandering 
about  the  Bast  lie." 

"1  know  my  child's  beauty  as  well  as  you  do, 
monsieur,"  replied  Philip,  '•  and  was  too  wise  to 
leave  her  in  my  ceil,  where  every  one  that  chose 
would  have  liberty  and  time  to  alfront  her,  while  1 
was  attending  upon  Monsieur  le  Ccmpte  here  :  so 
1  made  her  come  with  me,  and  set  her  under  the 
archway  of  the  old  tower  to  wait  till  1  v.  as  done. 
Now,  it  monsieur  has  done  with  me,  I  will  go  and 
conduct  her  to  the  outer  gate,  and   never  with  nay 


racniaiEC.     -  23 

will  shall  she  set  her  foot  within  these  walla 
again." 

•'  I  have  no  further  need  of  you  to-night,  Philip," 
s.iid  De  Blenau,  as  the  Woodman  stood  at  the  door 
ready  to 'depart  5  -and  then  seeing  that  the  governor 
turned  to  follow  him  cut,  he  added,  "  Monsieur  le 
Gouverneur,  will  you  sup  with  me  this  evening  V 

Philip  quitted  the  room^  hut  the  governor  vvas 
obliged  10  stay  to  reply.  "  With  pleasure,  sir,  with 
pleasure  said  he.  "  1  will  be  back  with  you  imme- 
diately, before  my  servant  brings  the  plates ;  but 
I  must  first  take  the  liberty  of  seeing  this  demois- 
elle out  of  the  prison  gates  "  He  then  left  De  Ble- 
nau, and  having  bolted  the  door,  followed  the  wood- 
man quickly  down  the  steps.  Philip,  however,  had 
gained  so  much  upon  him,  that  he  had  time  to  whi^- 
p'  r  to  Pauline,  whom  he  iound  waiting  in  the  arch- 
way :  "  The  governor  is  coming,  but  do  not  be  alarm- 
ed. Let  him  think  that  1  bade  you  wait  for  me 
here  till  I  had  attended  the  count."' 

Pauline,  however,  could  not  help  being  alarmed. 
While  the  excitement  of  her  enterprise  had  con- 
tinued, it  afforded  a  false  sort  of  courage,  which 
carried  her  through  ;  but  now  that  her  object  was 
gained,  all  her  native  timidity  returned,  and  she 
thought  of  encountcrir.g  the  governor  again  with 
fear  and  trembling.  i\^)r  !^ud  she  much  tune  to  re- 
call her  spirits  before  he  himself  joined  them. 

"  Well,  my  fiir  demoiselle/'  he  cried,  '•  I  think 
if  I  had  known  tii;it  you  were  waiting  here  all  flono 
in  t!ie  dark.  I  shouhl  hr.vc  paid  you  a  visit  j''  and 
he  raised  the  lamp  close  to  Pauline's  face,  whicfj 
WK3  as  pale  as  death.  '•  Why,  you  look  as  terrifi- 
ed," proceeded  tiie  governor,  ••  as  iryf'U  had  been 
committing  murder.  Well  I  will  light  you  out, 
and  when  y«  u  come  to-morrow,  you  will  nd  be  so 
frightened.     At  what  hour  do  v«iu  come,  c'l  V 

••  I  desire  that  you  would  not  come  at  all,"  said 
Pi;ilip,  aloud,  as  lie  followed  the  governor,  wh')  was 
escorting  Pauline  aloiig  with  an  air  of  gallantry  art! 
bndina5(j  which  did  not  at  .ill  set  off  bis  thin  de- 


24  «.!oi-:2:Ll£l'. 

rnure  features  to  advantage,  especially  in  the  unbe- 
ccniinj  H^'it  of  the  lamp  that  Hickcred  upon  theirt 
but  at  intervals,  tippinif  all  the  acjte  r.n^les  of  his 
couiuenance  with  not  the  most  agreeable  hue.  '•  I 
desire  that  you  would  not  come  at  all  ;  vou  have 
been  here  once  too  often  already.  Let  your  bfuth- 
er  Cliarles  eome  the  next  time." 

The  governor  darted  a  glance  at  Philip,  v.hich  cer- 
tainly evinced  that  his  face  (iould  take  on.  when  it 
likcvi,  an  expression  of  hatred,  malice,  and  all  uncha- 
ritableness  ;  and  in  a  minute  or  two  after,  by  soine 
means,  the  lamp  went  out  in  his  hands.  "  Here, 
Pliilio. '•  cried  he,  '  tike  the  lamp,  and  get  a  lii^iit.  •' 

''Your  pardon  sir.  '■  answered  the  sturdy  Wood- 
n^an  ;  "  not  till  I  have  seen  my  daughter  beyo:iJ 
the  srates. "' 

"Philip  Grissolles.' or  Philip  the  Woodman,  or 
whatever  you  call  yourself,  "  cried  the  governor, 
'•are  you  mad  1  Do  you  know  what  you  are  abnut  1 
Go  and  fetch  me  alight  instantly  or  refuse  me  at 
your  peril.  "' 

••  1  do  refuse  then."  replied  the  Woodman  wlio 
had  learned  by  conversation  wilii  the  porter  and  turn- 
keys, how  mucli  power  the  eoyernor  had  pi  iced  in 
his  han.ls  by  pc-rmilting  him  to  sttcj^d  upon  the 
Court  dft  Clcnau ;  "1  am  your  prisoner,  sir,"  he 
co;it  nufid,  ••  hut  not  your  servant. '' 

•'  1  hiVG  allowed  you  to  act  as-such  in  llie  prison, "' 
said  the  governor,  "  and  there  are  no  servants  here 
but  mine.  "' 

"  In  Eufferini  me  to  attend  upon  the  Count  d^  Ble- 
nau,  ■'  rpjoined  Philip,  holdy,  "  you  have  out  sttj-ped 
your  dutv.  anti  brok'^n  the  e.xpress  order  of  Use  car- 
dinal. So  mu»;h  have  I  learnedirir.ee  I  came  here*— 
therefore  allow  my  daughter  to  depart  q-Jietly,  sir. 
We  shall  lind  a  li/ht  in  the  porter  s  room.  " 

'•  By  heavens  !  Ihavamind  to  detain  the  girl  all 
night,  for  your  insolence,'"  cried  the  governor, 
stamping  wiih  rage, 

•'  Oil,  for  God's  sakefdo  not  i  "  exclaimed  Pauline, 
clasping  berh.mdsj  butPbilip  came  close  u;Uo him, 


RICHKLIEC.  2S 

— ••  You  dare  not,  "  said  he,  in  a  low  voice  ;  "for 
your  head,  you  dare  not.  "  And  then  added  aloud 
to  Pauline.  "  Come  along,  my  child;  Monsieur  le 
Gouverneur  will  let  you  out." 

During  (liiis  aitercalion  they  had  continued  to  pro- 
ceed ;  and  the  governor,  knowing  that  his  violation 
of  the  cardinafs  commands  with  regard  to  the  strict 
confinement  of  De  Blenau,  might  bring  his  head  to 
the  block,  ifsifted  thoroughly,  thought  it  best  to  ab- 
stain from  irritating  a  person  who  not  only  possess- 
ed, but  knew  that  he  possessed,  so  much  power.  Not 
that  iic  would  not  willingly  have  silenced  the  Wood- 
man by  some  of  those  infallible  means  which  were 
snuch  resorted  to  in  that  day;  but  that  he  knew  Cha- 
vigni  was  not  easily  satisfied  on  such  points  ;  and 
thus  being  in  a  situation  which  is  popularly  e.'spres- 
sed  by  "the  horns  of  a  dilemma,"  like  a  good 
Christian  as  he  was,  he  chose  rather  to  risk  dis- 
covery than  commit  murder  which  would  undoubt- 
edly be  found  out.  Under  these  circumstances,  he 
permitted  Philip  and  Pauline  to  proceed  to  the 
gates,  and  ordered  the  porter  to  give  the  young  lady 
egress,  taking  care,  however,  to  follow  them  all  the 
way  till  they  arrived  at  the  last  gate  opening  upon 
ihs  drawbridge,  v.'hich,  at  the  time  they  arrived,  had 
no"  been  yet  raised  for  the  evening. 

Pauline's  heart  beat  with  glad  impatience  as  the 
jailor  put  his  key  into  the  lock,  whose  bolt  grating 
harshly,  as  it  was  withdrawn,  produced  to  her  ears 
most  excellent  music. 

it  so  imfortunately  happened,  however,  that  at  the 
momG.r.  tiie  gate  swung  heavily  back  upon  its  hing- 
es, Charles,  the  Woodinan's  son,  presented  himself 
for  3dmission;and having  before  had  free  access  to  his 
f;ither.v,n3  proceeding  calmly  through  ihe  open  door, 
without  any  notice  of  iMademoii?ei!e  de  Beaumont, 
wlioni  he  did  not  recognise  in  her  disguise. 

'•  What  !"  exclaimed  the  governor,  whose  Bastille 
habits  rendered  him  quick  to  the  slightest  suspicion; 
"do  you  not  speak  to  your  sister  ?" 

¥oc.  n.  3 


.^  MCIiELIEU. 

"  Sister  !''  said  the  boy,  confornded  ;  "  1  have  ho 
sister    ' 

Pauline  saw  t!iat  in  another  moment  all  would  be 
lost  5  and  carting  past  the  govcmor.  she  was 
through  llie  ga'e,  and  ever  llie  drawbridge  in  a 
moment. 

••  Ncm  de  Pitii  .'"'  cried  the  governor ;  ''  Follow 
her.  Lei.r;tii.es  1 — quick,  quick  !'" 

Ttie  turnkey  was  on  P;iuiine's  footstep's  in  a 
minute  5  but  she  h;u  gained  so  mucli  in  tiie  first  in- 
stance, that  she  would  ctriainlv  have  escaped  with 
ease,  it  an  envious  siorc  iind  not  obstructed  her 
path  at  the  buiutm  ot"  tiie  glans,  and  striking  iier 
loot,  occasioned  tier  to  iaij.  Pauline  uttered  a 
scream  ot  btith  j.'aiu  and  lear  j  and  two  steps  would 
have  bruugiii  liie  turnkey  t<>  the  spot  where  she 
lay,  when  suddenly  a  buiall,  str.inge-shaped  figure 
in  while,  skipped  nver  her  pri)Slrnie  torni,  and  in- 
terposed between  her  as.d  i.er  pursuer. 

"  Ventre.  Saint  Gris  .'  '  cried  the  redt  ubtable 
Jacq'jt  s  Chatpilleur,  cuisinier  aubcrgislie,  who  thus 
came  to  lier assistance — "  Vou  shall  not  touch  her!  ' 
and  drawing  the  iong  rapier  that  hung  beside  his 
carving-kiiit'e.  he  made  a  pass  so  near  the  breast 
of  the  turnkey,  that  llie  official  Marled  back  lull 
ten  paces,  not  knouin-,  in  the  dim  light  ol  the 
hour,  what  hoi^gobfin  shajetuus  crossed  lii=  pur- 
pose. "  iT/ammi.'"  continued  t'  e  aOergiste,'\Y ho 
sre  )ou  that  dare  to  injure  tins  deiiK.ist'Je  1  un- 
der the  very  vvnilsof  liie  Basiilie.  too,  contrary  to 
the  peace  and  quiet  of  his  ujnjesiy's  true  subjects  ! 
Get  thee  '^one  !  or  I  wiil  sjiit  thee  like  a  chapon 
de  ir.aiiie.  or  raiher  skewer  thee  like  an  orlolaa 
under  t!ie  uiiigs.' 

This  pr.!i"s-:tiiial  allusion,  together  with  a  mo- 
menls  reflect. on.  enabicd  Lelranies,  the  turnkey, 
to  call  to  mind  the  ancien  vivandier ;  and  shower- 
ing upon  him  a  thousand  harsh  epithets  for  his 
inter;  ere  fit;.'  he  called  upon  him  to  stand  aside, 
and  let  him  secure  his  prisoner;  still,  however, 
etanding  aloof  from  the  point  of  the  weapon, — for 


mCHELlEU.  27 

-Jacques  Chatpillieur,  while  vivandier  to  the  army, 
•  had  t  hown  f'at  he  could  gather  laurels  with  his 
sword,  as  well  as  with  liis  knife  ;  and  had  as  often, 
to  use  Saficho's  expression,  siven  his  enemies  a 
belly  full  of  dry  blows,  as  Irs  had  ttlled  his  friends 
with  more  dainty  fare  :  with  this  difference,  how- 
ever, that  the  drubbings  he  bestowed  gratis. 

In  the  present  instance,  he  either  <!id  not  or 
would  not,  know  the  turnkey  ;  and  contiRued  vo- 
ciferating to  hin)  to  hold  off,  and  tell  who  he  wag, 
with  such  reit  ration,  that  for  some  time  the  oth- 
er had  no  opportumty  of  replying.  At  length, 
however,  he  roared,  rather  than  said,  "Jacques 
diable !  yon  know  me  well  enough  j  1  am  Lc- 
trames,  Geolier  au  chateau.' 

The  aubergiste  looked  over  his  shoulder,  and 
seeing  that  Pauline  was  no  longer  visible,  he  very 
q«ietly  put  up  his  rapier, saying.  "  3Jak  mon Dieic! 
man  ami,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  before  .' 
■Je  voui  en  demands  mille  pardons;^'  and  seizing 
the  turnkey  in  his  arms,  he  embrared  him.  makinj 
^.  thotfsand  excuses  for  having  mistaken  him,  and 
hugging  him  with  a  sort  of  malicious  allfjction, 
which  quite  put  a  stop  to  his  pursuit  of  Pauline. 

The  only  benediction  that  the  jailor  thought 
proper  to  hestow  on  the  little  aubergiste,  was  a 
-thousand  curses,  struggling  a!^.  the  time  to  free 
■hiiiHelf  from  the  serpent  iblds  of  Chatpilleurs 
■enibrare.  But  it  was  not  l\\\  ihc  aubergiste  had 
comnlelely  satisfied  himself,  that  he  suffered  Le- 
■trames  to  esc  'pe,  and  then  very  eoniposodly  of- 
fered to  assist  him  in  the  pursuit,  which  he  well 
knew  would  now  be  ineffectual. 

The  darkness  of  the  night  harl  prevented  this 
scene  from  l>eing  visihie  from  the  gates  of  the  Bas- 
tille, and  Lelrames,  on  his  return  to  the  prison, 
was  too  wise  to  complain  of  the  conduct  of  our 
iriend  Chatpilleur  ;  a  vivandier  at  the  gates  of  the 
■Bisulle  being  mnch  too  convenient  an  acquaint- 
ance to  be  quarrelled  with  upon  trifles. 

Duri.nif  his  absence,  lb«  wrath  of   the  governor 


28  RiCHELIEe. 

turned  upon  Philip  the  woodman.  "  What  is  the 
meaning  of  this  :  Villnin  !"  exclaimed  he,  "  this 
is  none  of  your  daughter  I  Fourchard  I  Le  Heu- 
terie  !"  he  called  aluua  to  some  of  his  satellites — 
''quick!  bring  me  a  srt  of  iroi;s  !  we  shall  soon 
hear  who  this  is,  Monsieur  Philip  Grissolesl" 

"  You  will  never  hear  any  tiling  IVowi  me  more 
than  you  know  already,'"  replied  I'hiiij)  j  -'so  put 
what  irons  on  me  you  like.  But  }ou  isad  belter 
beware,  Sir  Governor;  those  that  meddle  with 
pitch  will  stick  their  fingers.  You  do  not  know 
what  you  may  bring  upon  your  iiead/' 

"Silence,  fool  I''  cried  liie  governor,  in  a  voice 
that  made  the  archwa\,  ring;  •'  you  know  not  what 
you  have  brou;;2ht  upon  }  our  own  head.  Fouchard  ! 
La  Heuterie  1  I  say,  why  are  you  so  long?  Oh, 
here  you  come  at  last.  iSow  secure  that  fellow, 
and  down  with  him  to  one  of  the  black  dungeons  ? 
— Porter,  turn  that  young  viper  out,"'  l:e  continued, 
pointing  to  Charles,  who  stnod  trembling  and  weep- 
ing by  his  father  s  side  ;  "  Turn  him  out,  1  say  ? — 
we  will  have  no  more  of  lliese  trailers  than  we 
have  occasion  for." 

At  the  word  the  dark  di(ngeon,  Philip's  courage 
had  almost  failed  him,  and  it  was  not  without  an 
effort  that  he  ke[)l  hi;;  sturdy  hmhs  fr»  m  betraying 
his  emotion,  while  the  jiilors  began  to  plaie  the 
irons  on  his  wrists  and  ankles  :  but  when  he  heard 
the  order  to  drive  fVirth  his  son,  he  made  a  strong 
cribrt  and  caught  the  boy  in  his  arms  ;  God  bless 
you  God  bless  you.  Charles  my  bov  I  and  fear  not  for 
me,''  he  exclaimed.  ••  while  there  is  a  Power alove.' 

It  v.asa  momentary  solace  to  embrace  his  child, 
but  the  pf'rter  soon  tore  the  boy  from  his  arms, 
nnd  pushing  him  ll.rough  the  gate,  closed  it  alter 
hiiii,  rejoicing  that  he  should  no  more  have  to 
turn  the  kev  for  r.ny  of  the  woodman's  family. 
"Pvow,'  said  he,  "  now  we  shall  have  no  more 
trouble  ;  1  hate  to  sec  all  our  good  old  rules  and 
regulations  broken  through.  I  dare  say  if  his  emi- 
nence  the  cardinal — God  j  roteot   him  ! — were   to 


RICHELIKU.  2^ 

follow  ihis  Monsieur  Chavigni's  advice,  we  should 
have  every  thing  out  of  order  ;  and  all  the  gtjod 
store  of  chains  and  irons  here  in  the  lodge  would 
get  rusty  fvr  want  of  use." 

"  Peace,  pcr^cc  :"'  cried  the  governor  :  "  La  Heut- 
erio,  take  tiiat  I'eilow  down,  as  I  told  you.  He  shall 
have  t'lie  question  to-morrow,  and  we  shad  see  if  he 
finds  that  so  easy  to  bear.  Away  with  him  quick  I 
—A  fool  1  was  to  be  deceived  ! — 1  suspected  some- 
thing vvhen  she  st;niimered  so  about  her  father's 
name."  So  saying,  he  turned  to  hear  the  report  of 
Lctrames,  who  at  that  moment  returned  from  his 
unsuccessful  pursuit  of  Pauline. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  jailers  led  Philip,  who 
moved  with  difficulty  in  his  heavy  irons,  across  the 
first  and  second  court,  and  opening  a  low  door  in 
the  western  tower,  displayed  to  his  sight  a  flight  of 
steps  leading  down  to  ihe  lower  dungeons.  At 
this  spot  La  Heuterie,  who  seemed  superior  in 
rank  to  his  fellow-turnkey,  lighted  a  torch  that  he 
had  brought  with  him  at  his  companion's  lantern, 
and  descending  to  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  held  it 
up  on  high  to  let  Philip  see  his  way  down.  The 
woodman  shuddered  as  he  gazed  at  the  deep 
gloomy  chasm  which  presented  itself  but  half  seen 
by  tiie  glare  of  the  torch,  the  light  of  which  glanc- 
ing upon  the  wall  in  different  plnces.  showed  its 
green  damp  and  ropy-slime,  without  offering  any 
definite  limit  to  the  dark  and  fearful  vacuity.  But 
he  had  no  time  to  make  any  particular  remark,  for 
the  second  jailer,  who  stood  at  his  side,  rudely 
forced  him  on  5  and  descending  the  slippery  stone 
ste'^s.  he  found  himself  in  a  large  long  vault,  paved 
with  round  stones,  and  filled  with  heavy  subterra- 
nean air,  which  at  first  made  the  torch  burn  dim, 
and  took  away  the  woodman's  breath.  As  the 
light,  however,  spread  slowly  through  the  thick 
darkness,  he  could  perceive  three  d(K>rs  on  either 
hand  which  he  conceived  to  give  entrance  to  some 
of  those  under  ground  dungeons,  wnose  intrinsic 
horror,  as  well  as  tjie  fearful  uses  to  which  they 


ZQ  n-lCHKLIKU. 

were  often  applied,  had  given  a  terrific  fame  to 
the  name  of  the  Bistilie,  and  rendered  it  more 
dreaded  than  any  other  prison  in  France. 

Daring  this  time  tiey  had  paused  a  mroment, . 
mo\iiig  the  torch  slonlv  about,  as  if  afraid  that  it 
would  be  extinguishcil  In  the  dan»p.  but  when  tho 
fla  ;je  be;ran  to  rise  again,  La  Heuterie  desired  his 
companion  lo  bring  the  prisoner  to  number  six, 
arid  proceeding  to  the  extremity  of  the  VAult,  they 
opened  the  farthest  door  on  the  left,  which  led  into 
a  low  damp  ceil,  cold,  n-irrow,  and  unfurnished,  the 
very  abode  of  horror  and  despair.  Into  ihrs-  they 
pushed  the  unfortunate  woodman,  following  them- 
selves, to  see,  as  they  said,  if  there  was  any  straw. 

"  Have  you  brouglii  son>e  oil  with  you  ?'"  deman- 
ded La  Heuterie,  f^xamining  a  rusty  iron  iamp  that 
hung  *»gainiL  the  w^all  :  '•  Tnis  is  qvite  out." 

"  ^^o,  indeed, ■■  replied  Fo»Jchard,  *'  and  we  can- 
not get  any  to-night ;  but  he  does  not  want  it  till 
day.     It  is  time  for  him  to  go  to  sleep." 

•'  No,  no,-'  rejoined  the  other,  who  seemed  at 
least  to  have  some  human  feeling;  '-do  not  leave 
the  poor  devil  without  light.  Give  him  your  lan- 
tern, man  ;  you  can  fetch  it  to-morrow,  when  you- 
come  round  to  trim  the  lamps."' 

The  man  grumbled,  but  did  as  La  Heuterie  bade 
him  ;  and  having  fastened  »he  lantern  on  the  hook 
where  the  lamp  hung,  they  went  away,  leaving 
Philip  to  meditate  over  his  fate  in  solitude. 

''1  have  brought  it  on  myself  at  last,''  thought 
the  woodman,  as  looking  round  him  he  found  all 
tiie  horrors  he  had  dreamed  of  the  Bastille  more 
than  realiized  ;  and  his  spirit  sank  within  him.  Cut 
off  from  all  communication  with  any  humin  being, 
he  had  now  no  means  of  making  his  situation 
known  ;  and  the  horrible  idea  of  the  torture  shook 
all  his  resolution  and  unmanned  his  heart. 

It  would    hardly  be  fair  lo  pursue  the   course  of' 
his    reflections  any  further  ;    for  if,  when    he   re- 
membered his  happy  cottage  in  the  wood  of  Mantes, 
aed   his   wife,   and   Lis  little   ones,   a  momentary. 


RICriKLlEO.  81 

thoihgJit  of  disclosing  all  lie  knew  crossed  the 
wooHmin's  niinrl  5  ihe  next  in^tnnf.  t]ip  rmn  of 
the  queen,  t^e  death  of  the  good  Count  de  Blenau, 
and  a  trnin  of  endl-ss  ills  and  hturors  to  those 
who  (v  nfided  in  him,  Hashed  across  his  Imngina- 
tinn.  and  nerved  his  heart  to  batter  thin^r  .  ""  He 
calird  to  mind  every  (jenerous  principl-^  of  hi?  na- 
ture;  and  though  but  a  humble  peasant,  he  strug- 
gled nobly  asrainst  the  di-h!;)iorinT  power  of  fear. 

Sleep,  however,  was  out  of  the  u^iestion  ;  and  he 
sat  mournfully  on  the  straw  that  had  bee.i  placed 
for  his  bed.  watciiing  the  light  in  the  lantern,  as 
inch  by  inch  i?  burned  away,  till  at  last  it  yleaaied 
fora  moment  in  the  6ocket~sank — rose  agnin  with 
a  bright  Hash,  and  then  became  totally  extinguish- 
ed. He  now  remained  in  u!t':>r  darkness,  n<^>]  a 
thousand  vajiue  and  horrible  fmcies  crowded  upon 
his  imagination  while  he  sat  there,  calcuhuinsj  how 
near  it  was  to  day.  when  he  fancied  that  even  the 
momentary  pre.-ence  of  the  jailer  would  prr-ve  some 
relief  to  the  blank  solitude  of  his  situation.  Hour 
after  hour,  however,  passed  away,  and  no  glimpse 
oflig't  told  him  it  was  morning.  At  length  the 
door  opened  a"Sid  the  j;iiler  appear-^d,  bringing  with 
him  a  fresh  li.dit'^d  lamp,  thus  offering  a  frightful 
conlirmation  of  Philip's  fears  that  the  beams  of  day 
never  penetrated , to  the  place  of  his  confine- 
ment. 

The  jailer  took  down  the  lantern,  and  having  fns- 
tened  the  lamp  in  its  place,  gave  to  the  un'ortunate 
woodmnn  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  pitcher  of  water. 
"  Come  !^"  exclaimed  Fouchard,  in  a  tone  which 
spoke  no  gre  tt  pleasure  in  the  ta^k  ,  '■  gft  up  ;  I 
am  to  take  off  your  irons  ^or  vou  :  ai»d.  truly,  there 
is  no  great  use  of  Jiem,  for  if  vou  were  the  devil 
himself,  you  cfiuld  not  get  out  here." 

''  I  suppose  so.'"'  answered  Philip.  "  But  1  trust 
that  it  will  not  be  long  before  1  am  released  alto- 
gether." 

"  Why.  I  should  guess  that  it  would  not,"  answer- 
ed the  jailer,  in   somewhat  of  a  sarcastic  tone,  siill 


32  RiqilELIED. 

continuing  to  unlock  the  irons  5  "  people  do  not  to 
general  stay  here  very  long." 

"  How  so  ?"  demanded  Philip,  anxiously,  mis- 
doubting the  tone  in  which  -he  other  spoke.; 

'•  Why,"  rephed  he,  "  you  must  know  there  are 
three  ways,  by  one  of  which  prisone  s  are  generally 
released,  as  you  say,  altogether  ;  and  one  way  is  as 
common  as  another,  so  far  as  my  experience  goes. 
Sometimes  they  die  under  the  torture;  at  other 
times  they  are  turned  out  to  have  t;.eir  head  struck 
offj  or  else  they  die  of  the  damp:  which  last  we 
call  being  kamesick."  And  with  this  very  consola- 
tory speech  he  bun.Llled  up  the  irons  under  his  arm, 
and  quitted  the  ceil,  taking  cave  to  fasten  the  door 
behind  him. 


CHAPTER  in. 

Showing  what  it  is  to  be  a  clay  after  the  Fair,'  with  sundry 
olKei  inaUeis,  which  the  leader  canuot  fuliy  c<^mprfhend 
without  rtadiiig  Iheiii. 

Having  now  left  the  woodman  as  unhappy  as 
we  could  wish,  and  de  Blenau  very  little  better  off 
than  he  was  before  ;  we  roust  proceed  with  Pau- 
line, and  see  what  we  can  do  for  her  in  the  same 
way. 

It  has  been  already  sn'ul  that  in  the  hurry  of  lier 
flight  she  strurk  her  foot  against  a  stone,  and  fell. 
This  is  nn  ui  pleiistni  accider.t  at  all  times,  and 
more  epp(;ciali\  when  one  is  running  :  but  Pauline 
suffered  it  not  to  interrupt  her  flight  one  moment 
longer  than  necessary.  Finding  that  some  unex- 
pected obstacle  had  delayed  her  pursuer  as  well  as 
nerself,  she  was  upon   her  feet  in  a  moment  j  and 


RICHELIEU?.  33 

leaving  him  to  arrange  liis  difference  willi  Monsieur 
Chatpiileu  in  the  best  way  he  could,  she  flew  on 
towards  the  Rue  Saint  Antoine,  without  stopping 
to  thank  her  tleliverer  ;  and,  indeed,  without  know- 
ing that  the  good  aiibergiste,  iakiug  a  sincere  inter- 
est in  her  fate.  had.  at  the  hour  appointed  waited 
at  the  door  of  his  anberge  till  he  saw  her  enter  the 
Bastille,  and  then,  from  some  undefined  feeling  that 
all  would  not  go  right,  had  watched  anxiously  to  see 
her  safe  out  again. 

The  interest  not  being  reciprocal,  Pauline  had 
forgotten  all  about  the  aiibergiste  ;  and  onlv  seeing 
that  some  one  obstructed  her  pursuer,  she  fled,  as  1 
have  said  before,  to  the  Rue  Saint  Antoine.  She 
passed  Jacques  Chatipilleur's  little  auberge  without 
any  exchange  of  sentiment  even  with  the  Sanglair 
Gourmand,  and  darted  by  the  boutique  of  a  passem- 
entier  w'\lh  the  same  celerity.  The  next  shop  was  a 
marchand  de  broderie  et  tie  dcntelle,  with  a  little 
passage,  or  cul  desac,  between  it  and  the  following 
house,  which  was  occupied  by  a  brocanteur,  both 
which  trades  requiring  dayliaht  in  aid  of  their  oper- 
ations, were  at  that  hour  firmly  closed  with  bolt  ar  d 
bar,  nor  shed  one  solitary  ray  to  light  the  passenger 
along  the  streets. 

Just  as  she  had  come  opposite  to  the  first  of 
these,  Pauline  found  some  one  seize  her  robe  be- 
hind, and  the  next  minute  a  large  Spanish  cloak 
was  thrown  over  her  head,  while  a  gigantic  pair  of 
arms  embracing  her  waist,  raised  her  from  the 
ground,  and  bore  her  along  the  street.  Naturally 
conceiving  that  she  was  in  the  power  of  some  of 
her  pursuers  from  the  Basliije,  Pauline  did  not  per- 
ceive, in  the  dreadful  agitation  ol  the  moment,  that 
she  was  carried  in  a  ditlerent  direction  ;  and,  giv- 
ing hersell  up  for  lost,  she  yielded  to  her  fate  with- 
out scream  or  cry.  Whoever  it  was  that  held  her, 
carried  her  like  a  feather  j  but  after  striding  along 
through  several  turnings,  he  paused,  placed  her  on 
the  ground,  and  still  holding  the  cloak  over  her 
head  with  one  hand   seemed  to  open  a  door  with 


8^'  KlCilELlEt. 

the  other.  The  next  moment  he  raised  her  again, 
though  in  a  different  position,  and  c  irried  her  up 
what  was  evidently  a  small  winding  staircase,  at 
the  top  of  which  he  again  opened  a  door,  where, 
even  th'-ough  the  cloak.  Pauline  c  iiild  I'erceive 
that  they  had  entered  some  place  w!uch  contained 
a  powerful  light.  The  momeiU  the  d<>or  was  onen, 
some  one  exclaimed,  '  It  is  she  !  Oh  Jesu  1  \es, 
it  is  she!"  in  a  voice  %vhich  sounded  so  like  il^at 
of  her  maid  Louise  that  Pauline  vvas  more  than 
ever  bewildered.  The  per.-on  who  had  carried  her 
now  placed  her  in  a  chair,  ar.ri  laking  the  addi- 
tional security  oftvintT  the  cli  ak  over  her  head, 
comrnunicnted  for  a  few  minutes  with  the  other 
person  in  whispers;  after  which  Pauline  fancied 
that  some  one  quitted  the  room.  The  covering 
was  then  removed  from  her  eyes.  a;id  she  found 
herse+f  in  a  small,  meanly-furn.shed  aoartment, 
whose  only  occupant,  besides  herself,  was  a  hand- 
some man  of  \e,'y  gigantic  proporhons.  and  of  that 
sort  of  daring  aspect  which  smacked  a  little  of  the 
bravo.  He  was  well  dressed  in  a  pourpoiHt  of 
green  lustring,  braided  with  gold  lace,  slightly  tar- 
nished ;  the  haut  de  chwisses  was  of  the  same,  tied 
down  the  side  with  red  ribands  ;  and  the  cloak 
which  he  removed  from  I^auline's  head  seemed  to 
form  a  part  of  the  dress,  though  he  bad  deprived 
himself  of  it  for  the  moment,  to  answer  the  pur- 
pose in  which  we  have  seen  it  employed.  On  the 
whole,  he  was  a  good-looking  cavalier,  though 
there  was  a  certaui  air  of  lawlessness  in  hiscounte- 
nance  and  mien  which  n^ade  Pauline  shrink. 

"  Nay.  do  not  be  afraid,  mademoiselle."  said  he, 
with  a  strong  Norman  accent-.  "  Point  de  danger, 
point  de  dan::;er  ;"  and  he  strove  to  reasrure  her  to 
the  best  of  his  power.  He  possessed  no  great  elo- 
quence, however,  at  least  of  the  kind  calculated  to 
calm  a  lady's  fears  ;  and. the  only  thing  whirh  'en- 
ded to  give  Pauline  any  relief,  wa-?  the  manife-^t  re- 
spect with  which  he  addressed  her,  standing  cap  ia 


RICHEnEl.  39 

hand,  rnd   reiterating  that   no  harm   was  intended 
or  criuld  happen  to  her. 

She  lisiened  wiihout  attending,  too  much  fright- 
ened to  believe  his  words  to  their  full  extent,  and 
striving  to  gain  from  the  objects  r-  and  about  6"=ne 
more  precise  knowledge  of  her  situation.  She 
was  evidently  not  in  the-  Bastilij;  for  the  door 
of  the  ro.-in,  instead  of  offering  tn  her  view  bolts 
and  bars  of  such  complicated  Tbrms  ♦'^at,  like  the 
mousetrap,  they  would  have  puzzled  the  man  that 
luade  them,  was  only  fastened  by  a  single  wood- 
en lock,  ir.e  key  of  whicn.  like  a  dog's  tongue  in 
a  hoi  day,  kept  lolling  out  with  a  negligent  in- 
cliun.i')n  towards  the  ground,  very  much  at  ease 
in  its  keyhole.  The  more  Pauline  gazed  around 
her,  the  more  she  was  bewildered  ;  and  after  re- 
solving twenty  times  to  speak  to  the  Norman,  and 
as  often  failing  in- courage,  she  at  last  produced  an 
articulate  sound,  which  went  to  inquire  where  she- 
was.  The  Norman,  who  had  been  walking  up  and 
down  the  room,  as  if  waiting  the  arrival  of  some 
one,  stopped  in  the  midst,  and  making  a  low  '"n^- 
clination,  begged  to  assure  mademoiselle  tiiat  she 
was  in  a  place  of  safety. 

The  ice  being  broken,  Pauline  demanded,  "  Did 
not  I  hear  the  voice  of  my  maid  Louise?" 

"jSo;  it  was  my  wife,  madfmfiiselle,"  replied 
her  comparion,  dryly;  and  reco-uajrnf'iPg  his  per- 
ambulations, the  youns  lady  sank  back  into  l-erself. 
At  length  I  tap  was  heard  at  the-  door,  and  the 
Norman  -larting  forward  went  on  the  outside, 
closing  it  after  him,  though  not  completely  ;  and 
of  the  conversUion  which  endued  between  him 
and  some  other  msn.  Pauline  c'»uld  catcti  detach- 
ed sentences,  which,  though  th<^y  served  but  little 
to  eliicidate  her  position  to  herself,  may  be  of 
service  to  the  reader. 

At  first  all  was  conducted  in  a  whisper,  but  the 
Norman  soon  broke  forth,  ••  Sactiristie  !  I  tell-  you 
she  got  in.  I  did  not  catch  her  till  she  was  com- 
ing o\xk  " 


QQ  RICHELIEU. 

*■■  Monseigneur  will  be  precious  angry  with  ua 
both,  answered  the  other.  "'  How  I  missed  yon,  I 
cannot  imagine  5  I  only  went  to  call  upon  la  ptiUe 
Jeanetle.  and  did  not  slay  live  minutes.' 

•'  And  I  just  stepped  into  the  Sanglis)-  Gour- 
mand,'' rejoined  our  ?sorman,  '  which  is  opposite 
you  know.  There  I  thought  I  could  see  all  that 
went  on.  But  that  maraud,  Jacques  Chatpillieur, 
was  always  at  his  door  about  something;  so  find- 
ing that  I  could  not  get  my  second  bottle  of  wine, 
I  went  down  to  the  cave  for  it  myself  j  antl  she 
must  have  passed  while  I  was  below." 

"  How  did  you  find  out.  then,  that  she  had  got 
into  the  Bastille  ?"  demanded  the  other. 

The  iS"orman.'s  reply  was  delivered  in  so  low  a 
tone  that  Pauline  could  only  distinguish  the  words 
— "  Heard  a  scream — saw  her  running  past  like 
mad — threw  the  cloak  over  her,  and  brought  her 
here." 

"  Perhaps  she  was  not  in,  after  all,"  rejoined  the 
other;  '•  but  at  all  events,  we  must  tell  monseign- 
eur so.  You  swear  you  caught  her  just  as  she  was 
going  in,  and  Til  vow  that  1  was  there  and  saw 
you." 

A  new  consultation  seemed  to  take  place  ;  but 
the  speakers  proceeded  so  rapidly,  that  Pauline 
could  not  comprehend  upon  what  it  turned  exactly, 
although  she  was  herself  evidently  the  subject  of 
discussion.  ''Oh,  she  will  not  tell  for  her  own 
sake,"  said  one  of  the  voices.  "  She  would  be 
banished,  to  a  cerlainty.  if  it  was  known  tiial  she 
got  in  5  and  as  to  the  .^olks  at  the  Bastille,  be  sure 
that  they  will  hold  their  irn-jues." 

Something  was  now  said  about  a  letter,  and  the 
voice  o'  the  N(>rman  replied,  'Monseigneur  does 
not  suppose  that  she  had  a  letter  Oh,  no  I  trust 
me,  slie  had  none.  It  was  v.  ord  of  mouth  work,  be 
you  sure.  They  were  too  cunning  to  send  a  letter 
which  nr-ight  be  stopped  upon  her.  j\o,  no,  they 
know  something  more  than  that." 

'  Well,  then,  the  sooner  we  take  her  there,  the 


nieffiair.r?.  <7 

better,"  rejoined  the  other ;  "  the  carriage  is  be- 
low but  ^ou  must  blind  her  eyes,  for  she  may 
know  the  liveries.' 

'•  Ah  !  your  cursed  livery  beirayed  us  once  be- 
fore/' answered  the  Norman.  ''Holla!  la  haul! 
mon  Ange,  give  me  a  kerchief;  I  wil!  tie  iicr  eyes 
wit'i  that,  for  ihe  cloak  olmost  smoth..rs  her,  poor 
littie  soul !" 

A  light  step  was  now  heard  conning  down  stairs, 
and  a  third  person  was  added  to  the  party  witliout. 
What  they  said,  Pauline  could  not  make  out  ;  but 
though  speaking  in  a  whisucr,  she  was  still  confi- 
dent that  she  distinguished  the  voice  of  her  maid 
Louise.  '•  Harm  1"  said  the  JNiorman,  after  a  irio- 
ment, "  we  are  going  to  do  her  no  harm,  cherc  aynie ! 
She  will  be  down  there  in  Maine,  witn  the  count- 
ess, and  as  hap;)y  as  a  princ  ss.  Give  this  gentle- 
man the  trunk  mail,  and  get  yourself  ready  against 
1  come  back  ;  for  v/e  have  our  journey  to  tike  too, 
you  V.i\oyi.  ma  petite  femme.''' 

'f^he  Norman  tiow  laid  his  hand  upon  the  lock; 
there  was  a  uiomentary  bustle  as  of  tlie  party  sepa- 
rating; and  tile n  entering  the  room,  he  informed 
Pauline  that  she  must  allow  him  to  blindfold  her 
eyes.  Knowing  that  resistance  was  in  vain,  Pau- 
line submitted  with  a  good  grace  ;  and,  her  fears 
consKierably  allayed  by  the  conversation  she  had 
overheard,  attempted  to  draw  from  the  Norman 
some  farther  information.  But  here  he  was  inflexi- 
ble ;  and  having  tied  the  handkerchief  over  her 
eyes,  so  as  completely  to  prevent  her  seeing,  he 
conducted  her  gently  down  the  stairs,  taking  care 
to  keep  her  from  falling  ;  and  having  arrived  in  the 
open  air,  lifted  her  lightly  into  a  carriage,  placed 
hi:'  self  by  her  side,  and  gave  orders  to  drive  on. 

The  vehicle  had  not  proceeded  many  minutes, 
when  it  again  stopped  ;  and  Pauline  was  lifted  out, 
conducted  up  a  (light  of  stone  steps,  and  th.en  led 
into  an  apartment,  where  she  was  placed  in  a  fau- 
leuil,  the  luxurious  softness  of  which  bespoke  a  very 
different  sort  ol  furniture  from  tUat  of  the  chamb€r 


SS  RICHELlEtl. 

which  she  had  just  left.  There  wns  nrw  a  Irttte 
bustle,  and  a  coixl  d'.al  ef  whispering,  and  then  ev- 
ery one  seen.fd  to  leave  the  r<  om.  Fancung  he^-- 
seif  alone, -Pauline  raised  her  hand,-  in  or^er  to 
remove  the  handkerchief  from  her  eves,  at  lea.si  for 
a  monientj  but  a  loud  •'  Prtiiez  gardeT'  frcsm  ihe 
JN'orrr  an,  slopped  her  in  her  purpi^se,  and  the  next 
instant  a  door  opened,  and  she  heard  steps  approach- 
ing. 

"  Shut  the  dt)or,"  said  a  voice  she  hnd  never 
heard  before.  ••  Marleville,  you  have  done  well. 
Are  you  sure  that  slie  had  no  conversation  with  any 
one  in  the  pr'son  ?' 

••  I  will  swear  to  it !"  answered  the  Norman,  with 
the  stobt  nsservation  of  a  determined  liar.  "  Ask 
your  man  Chauvelin,  monseigneur;  he  wns  by,  and 
saw  me  catch  hold  of  her  before  she  was  at  the 
gate.'' 

■■So  he  says,"  rejoined  the  other;  "but  now 
leave  the  room.  I  must  have  some  conversation 
with  this  d«ii»oiselie  myself.  Wait  f^r  me  with- 
out." 

"  Paniie  !''  muttered  the  Tsorman,  as  he  with 
drew  ;  ••  lie'll  tiiid  it  out  now,  and  lIsBn  J'm  ruin- 
ed."" 

••  Mademoiselle  de  BcaHmonf.''  said  the  person 
t^mt  remained,  ••\ou  have  been  engtiged  in  a  rash 
and  dangerous  enterprise — had  you  succeeded  in 
it,  tl'.e  Bastille  must  have  been  v(.ur  doom,  and  se- 
vere jiidum*'nt  ucciirding  to  the  law.  By  'im  ly 
itifornial.on  on  the  subject,  Ihave  been  enabled  to 
save  y<  u  from  s\icii  a  fate;  bull  am  sorry  to  say 
that,  for  tbf  safety  of  all  parties,  you  must  enduce 
an   .Tbff  nee  from  vf>or  friends  t'or  s(Kfte  time." 

He  piused.  as  if  e^ipecting  a  reply  ;  and  Pauline, 
"{ifter  a  moment's  ronsideraiion,  deiermined  to  an- 
swer, in  or<ler  to  draw  from  him.  if  possible,  some 
farther  information  c-oivoerning  the  ir.srmer  in-^vhich 
he  had  he-come  af-qn  itired  with  her  movements, 
and  also  in  regard  to  her  future  destination.  "I 
p6rc«ive,  eir,''  taid  she,  ''  from  your  conversation, 


that  you  belong  to  the  same  rank  of  society  ae  my- 
«elt  ;  but  I  am  at  a  loss  to  imngine  hew  any  geulle- 
man  presumes  to  attribute  dangerous  enterprises. 
and  actions  deserving  imprisonment,  to  a  lady,  of 
whom  he  neither  docs,  nor  can  l<no\v  anything." 

'•My  dear  }Oung  lady,"  eplied  her  companion, 
"you  make  m  smile.  I  did  noi  tiiink  that  I  should 
have  to  put  forth  my  di|i!omatic-  powers  against  so 
fair  and  ■  ontliful  an  opinuient.  But  allow  me  to  re- 
mind ya  that,  when  young  ladies  of  the  highest 
rank  are  found  masquerading  in  liie  street  at  night, 
dresseii  in  their  servants'  garments,  they  subject 
their  conduct,  perhaps,  lo  \\.)rse  misc  nstruftiOBS 
than  ibai  which  I  liave  put  upon  yours.  But,  Made- 
moiselle de  Beaumont,  I  knov/  )ou,  and  1  know  the 
spirit  of  your  family  too  well  to  suppose  that  any 
tJjing  but  some  great  and  powerful  motive  could 
induce  you  to  appear  as  you  do  now.  Withdraw 
that  bnndage  from  your  e\es  (I  have  no  fear  of  en- 
Countering  tiiem).  and  look  if  that  be  a  dress  in 
which  Madf  moist  He  de  Beaumont  should  be  seen." 

Pauline's  quirk  hngtrs  instantlv  removed  the 
haiidke; chief,  and  raising  her  eyes,  she  fVund  that 
sbe  was  placed  exactly  before  a  tall  Venetian  mir- 
ror which  offered  her  a  complete  portrait  of  her- 
self, sitting  in  an  immense  arm-chair  of  green  vel- 
vet, and  dissinised  in  the  costume  of  a  Lanquedoc 
paycanne.  The  large  capote,  or  hood,  which  she 
had  worn,  had  been  thrust  oack  by  the  Korn>ap,  i« 
order  to  blindfold  her  e}es,  and  her  dark  hair,  all 
di^hevelled,  was  hanging  about  her  face  in  gh-ssy 
confusion.  The  red  serge  jupe  of  Louise  h.-.d  ac- 
quired in  the  passages  of  the  Bastille  no  inconsid- 
erable portion  of  dust  ;  and  near  the  knee  on  which 
she  had  fallen  at  the  foot  of  the  glacis,  ii  was  stain- 
ed with  mire,  as  well  as  slightly  torn.  In  addition 
to  rll  this,  appeared  a  large  rent  at  the  side,  occa- 
sio'  ed  by  the  efforts  of  Philip  the  woodman  to  dis- 
engage ii  from  the  sta;  le  on  which  it  had  caught  ; 
and  the  black  bodice  had  been  broadly  marked  with 


40  R  CHtLlfclU. 

green  mould,  in  pressing  against  the  wall,  while  the 
guards  passed  so  near  to  her. 

Her  face  also  was  deathly  pale,  with  all  the  alarm, 
agitation,  and  fatigue  she  lia^l  undergone;  so  that 
no  person  could  be  more  different  from  the  elegant 
and  bh)oraing  Pauliae  de  Beaumont  than  the  hgure 
wh.ic'n  tnat  mirror  reflected.  Pauline  almfost  start- 
ed when  she  beheld  herself^  but  quickly  recover- 
ing from  her  surprise,  she  cast  her  eyes  around  the 
room,  which  was  furnished  in  the  most  splendid  and 
costly  manner,  and  filled  with  a  thousand  objects  of 
curiosity  or  luxury,  procured  from  all  the  quarters 
of  the  g'lobe. 

Her  attention,  however,  rested  not  upon  any  of 
these.  Within  a  few  paces  of  the  chair  in  which 
she  sat,  stood  a  tall  elegant  man,  near  that  period 
of  life  called  the  middle  age,  but  certainly  rather 
beli>w  than  above  the  point  to  which  the  term  is 
generally  applied.  He  was  splendidly  dressed,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  of  the  day  ;  and  the  neat 
trimming  of  his  beard  and  mustaches,  the  regular 
arrangeramt  of  his  dirk  flowing  hair,  and  the  scru- 
pulous harmony  and  symmetry  of  every  part  of  hia 
apparel,  contradicted  tlie  thoughtful,  dignified  ex- 
pression of  his  eyes,  which  seemed  occupied  with 
much  higher  thoughts.  Vandyke  has  transmitted 
to  us  many  such  a  physiognomony,  and  many  such 
a  dress;  but  few  of  his  costumes  are  more  splendid, 
or  his  countenances  mora  dignified,  than  was  that 
of  the  stranger  who  stood  beside  Mademoiselle  de 
Beauniont. 

He  paused  for  a  moinent,  giving  her  time  to 
make  what  examination  she  liked  of  every  thing  in 
the  apartment ;  and  as  her  eye  glanced  to  himself, 
demanded  with  a  smile.  '■  Well.  Mademoiselle  de 
Beaumont,  do  you  recollect  me  ?"' 

"  Not  in  the  least,'  replied  Pauline  ;  **  I  think, 
sir,  that  we  can  never  have  seen  each  other  be- 
fore." 

"  Yes,  we  have,  answered  her  companion,  ''  but 


lUCfiELIEU  41 

it  was  at  a  distance.  However,  now  look  in  that 
glass,  and'  le!l  mo — Do  you  recollect  yourself  V' 

'•  HarHly  !"  replied  Pauline,  with  a  blush,  'hard- 
ly indeed." 

"  "  Well  then,  fair  lady,  1  think  that  you  will  no 
longer  demand  my  reasons  fur  attributing  to  you 
dangerous  enterprises,  and  actinns,  as  you  say,  de- 
serving imprisonment  -,  but  to  put  an  end  to  your 
doulits  at  onre,  look  at  thnt  order,  where,  I  think, 
you  will  find  yo-irseirf^ome-^  hat  accur;itely  describ- 
ed." Anil  be  handed  to  Pauline  a  small  piece  of 
parchment,  beinnning  v^iih  the  words  ol'serious  im- 
port '  De  par  le  roy.'  and  ?oing-  on  t  j  order  the  ar- 
rest oi  the  Den)oiselle  Pauline,  dnu^hter  of  the  late 
Marquis  de  Beaumnnt,  and  of  the  D  ui^e  Anne  de  la 
Hautiere  ;  with  all  those  'j-^od  set  t-rms  and  par- 
ticulars, whi'li  left  no  iv.;:r.  jor  mistake  or  quiblile, 
even  li  it  h-.d  been  examined  by  the  eyes  <.'f  the 
sharpest  lawyer  of  the  Coiir  des  Aides. 

"  What  say  you  ro'.v,  MaGomniselle  de  Beau- 
mont ?"  demanded  her  companion,  seeing  her 
plunged  in  embarrassment  aid  surprise. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,  sir."  replied  Pauline, 
"but  'hat  I  must  submit.  H(jwever,  I  trust  that, 
in  common  humaniry.  I  shall  he  allowed  to  see  my 
motber,  either  when  I  am  in  prison,  or  before  1  am 
conveyed  thither.'" 

"  You  mistake  me,"  said  the  other  ;  '•  you  are 
not  goinu;  to  a  pris-m  I  onlv  intend  that  you  should 
take  a  Sittle  journe^  into  the  country  ;  during  the 
course  of  which  all  attention  shall  be'paid  to  your 
comfort  and  conveniei'.re.  Of  course,  young  lady, 
when  you  undertook  tbe  difficult  task  of  conveying 
a  tnessnge  from  t'le  qu?'en  to  a  prisoner  in  the  Bas- 
tille, you  were  (>repired  to  risk  the  conseqnenres. 
As  vnij  liave  not  succreded,  no  areat  punia!.ment 
will  fd!  uoon  vou;  hut  as  it  is  absolutely  Jiece:-snry 
to  'he  government  to  prevent  all  coninnmic^'ion 
be'wepn  su--pected  parties,  you  must  bear  a  tempo- 
rary absence  from  the  court'   till  such  time  as  this 


4A  RlCHcl.lkM, 

whole  business  be  terminated ;  tor  neither  the 
queen,  nor  any  one  else,  must  know  how  far  you 
have  succeeded  or  failed."' 

Pauline  pleaded  hard  to  be  allowed  to  see  her 
mother,  but  in  vain.  The  stranger  v.as  obdurate, 
and  would  listen  to  neither  entreaties,  piomisea, 
nor  remonstrances.  All  she  could  obtain  was,  the 
assurance  that  Madame  de  Beaumont  should  be  in- 
formed of  her  safety,  and  that,  perhaps,  after  a  time, 
she  might  be  permitted  to  write  to  her.  "  Listen 
to  me,"  said  the  stranger,  cutting  short  the  prayers 
by  which  she  was  attempting  to  influence  him.  '•  I 
expect  the  king  and  court  from  Chantilly  within  an 
hour;  and  before  that  time  ycu  must  be  out  of  Pa- 
ris. For  your  convenience,  a  female  servant  shall 
attend  you,  and  you  will  meet  with  all  the  respect 
due  to  your  rank  ;  but  for  your  own  sake,  ask  no 
questions,  for  I  never  permit  my  domestics  to  can- 
vass my  affairs  with  any  or.e — nay,  they  are  forbid- 
den ever  to  mention  my  name,  except  for  some 
express  and  permitted  purpose.  I  will  now  leave 
you,  and  send  Mathuriue  to  your  assistance,  who 
will  help  you  to  change  your  dress  from  that  cojfre. 
You  will  then  take  some  refreshment,  and  set  cut 
as  speedily  as  possible.  At  the  end  of  your  jour- 
ney, you  will  meet  with  one  to  whose  care  I  iiave 
recommended  you,  and  ycu  will  then  learn  in 
whose  hands  you  are  placed.  At  preseuL  I  have  the 
honor  of  bidding  you  farewell."' 

The  uncertainty  of  her  fate,  the  separation  from 
her  mother,  the  vague  uneasv  fear  attendant  upon 
want  of  all  knowledge  of  v.  hither  she  was  going,  and 
the  impossibility  of  communicating  with  her  friends 
under  any  event,  raised  up  images  far  more  terrify- 
ing and  horrible  to  the  nii  dot  Pauline,  than  almr-t 
any  specific  danger  could  have  doiejand.  as  l.er, 
companion  turned  av/ny,  she  hid  her  facG  iu  her 
hands  and  wept. 

Hearing  her  sob,  and  perhaps  attributing  her  tears 
to  other  motives,  he  tamed  for  a  moment,  and  said 
in  a  low  Toiee  :  "  Do  not  weep  my  dear  child  ?    1 


RICHELIEU.  4S 

give  you  ray  honor,  that  you  will  be  well  and  kindly 
treated.  But  one  thing  1  forgot  to  mentic.n.  I 
know  that  your  object  was  to  visit  the  Count  de 
Bienau  ;  and  I  know,  also,  lliat  a  personaf  interest 
had  something  to  do  in  the  matter.  Now.  Madem- 
oiselle de  Beaumont,  1  can  feel  for  you  ;  and  it  may 
be  some  comfort  to  know,  that  M.  de  Bienau  has, 
at  least,  one  person  in  the  council,  who  will  strive 
to  give  to  the  proceedings  against  him  as  much 
leniency  as  circumstances  will  admit.'" 

This  said,  he  quitted  the  apartment,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment  after  Pauline  was  joined  by  the  female  servant 
of  whom  he  had  spoken.  She  was  a  staid,  reputa- 
ble looking  women,  of  about  fifty,  with  a  little  of 
the  primness  of  ancient  maiiienhood,  but  none  of  its 
acerbity.  And,  aware  of  Pauline's  rank,  she  assist- 
ed her  to  disentangle  herself  from  her  unconiforta- 
blrt  disguise  with  silent  respect,  though  she  could 
not  help  murmuring  to  herself  ''  MonDieu!  Une 
demol-ielle  mise  comme  ca."  She  then  called  the 
young  lady's  attention  to  the  contents  of  the  cqffre, 
a&king  which  dress  she  would  choose  to  wear  ; 
when,  to  her  surprise,  Pauline  found  that  it  contain- 
ed a  considerable  part  of  her  own  wardrobe,  for- 
getting the  prohibition  to  ask  questions,  she  could 
not  help  demanding  of  Mathurine  how  her  clothes 
could  come  there  3  but  the  servant  was  either  igno- 
rant, or  prete  de  1  to  be  so,  and  Pauline  could  obtain 
no  infor'iiation.  As  soon  as  fhe  was  dressed,  some 
-refreshments  were  placed  on  the  table  by  Mathu- 
rine, who  received  them  from  a  servaiit  at  one  of 
the  doors,  which  she  immediately  closed  again,  and 
pressed  Pauline  to  eat.  Pauline  at  first  refused; 
but  at  length,  to  satisfy  her  companion,  who  con- 
tinued tn  icisist  upon  it  with  a  degree  of  qjiet,  per- 
severing civility,  that  would  take  no  refusal,  she 
took  some  of  the  coffee,  which  was  at  that  time 
served  up  as  a  rarity.  As  soon  as  ever  the  domes- 
tic perceived  that  no  entreaty  would  induce  her  to 
taste  any  thing  else,  she  called  in  a  servant  to  carry 


44  RrCHELIEL^ 

the  coffre  to  the  carriag-e,  and  then  notified  to  Pan- 
line  thai  it  v/as  lirue  for  them  to  depart. 

Panline  felt  that  ail-  resisiai  ce  or  delay  would  be 
vain  •■  and  she  accordingly  followed  Malhurjne  down 
a  magnificent  siairecse  into  a  court-^ard,  where 
stood  a  chaise  roulanie,  the  door  of  which  was  held 
open  by  the  Norman  we  have  already  menuoned, 
while  two  men-servants  appeared  ready  mounted 
to  tojlovv  the  vehicle,  as  soon  as  it  set  out.  Mathu- 
rine  placed  herself  by  Pauline's  side  when  she  had 
entered  j  and  the  JSorman,  having  closed  the  door, 
opened  the  porterecochere  of  the  court,  and  the  car- 
riage drove  out  into  the  street. 

VVe  will  not  take  the  trouble  of  following  Made- 
moiselle de  Beaumont  on  her  journey,  which  occu- 
pied that  night  and  the  two  following  days  :— suf- 
fice it  to  say,  that  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day 
they  arr'ved  in  the  beau'iful  neighbour!  <  od  of 
Chateau  du  Loir.  The  smiUng  slopes,  coverei^  with 
the  first  vines  5  the  rich  fruit  trees  hanging  acn:,'.l- 
ly  over  the  road,  dropping  Avith  the  latest  gifts  of 
libera!  nature  ;  the  balmy  air  of  a  warm  SeptemLer 
evening  ;  the  rosy  cheeks  of  the  peasantry  ;  and  the 
clear,  smooth  windings  of  the  rivrr  Loir,*  all  an- 
nounced that  they  were  approaching  the  land  or 
happy  Touraine  :  and  after  putiiaig  her  head  more 
than  once  fri>ra  the  window,  Mathunne,  with  a 
smile  of  pleasure,  pointed  forward,  exclaiming, 
"  Voild  U  Chateau.'' 

Pauline's  eyes  followed  to  the  point  where  the 
other's  hand  directed  them  ;  and  upon  a  liigh 
ground,  rising  gently  above  the  trees  which  crown- 
ed a  little  projectmg  turn  of  the  river,  she  btrheld  a 
group  of  towers  and  pinnacles,  with  the  conical- 
slated  roofs,  I  uUifarious  weat!iercocks,  long  narrow 
windows,  one  turret  upon  the  buck  of  anoiher.  and 
all  the  other  distinctive  marks  of  an  old  French, 
chateau. 

*  Not  the  Loire. 


RICHELlWr  45 


CHAPTER  IV. 


In  which  De  Blf-naii  finds  (hat  he  has  got  tiie  rod  in  his  own 
hand,  mid  how  lie  UlS^^  It ;  together  with  a  curious  account 
of  a  ti  tmendous  combat  and  glorious  victoiy. 

I  CAN  easily  imagine  myself,  and  1  dare  say  the 
reader  will  not.  find  niucli  difficulty  in  fancying,  tliat 
the  Count  de  Blenau  sutfered  not  a  little  inquietude 
while  he  remained  in  uncertainty  respecting  Pau- 
line's free  exit  from  tlie  Bastille. 

Take  and  dr.iw  him,  as  Sterne  did  his  captive. 
See  him  walking  up  and  down  the  chamber  with 
the  anxiety  of  d(;ubt  upon  his  brow  and  in  his  heart, 
listening  for  every  sound  in  the  court-yard,  catching 
the  foot-step  C)f  the  sentinol  at  his  door,  and  fancy- 
ing it  the  retu  n  of  the  governor, — hope  sirugL'ling 
against  fear  and  feir  remaining  victor, — conjuring  up 
a  thousand  wild,  improbable  events,  and  missing  the 
-true  one;  and  in  short, making  his  bosom  a  Ae/Z  where- 
in to  torment  his  own  heart. 

Thus  d  d  Claude  de  Blenau.  during  that  lapse  of 
-time  which  the  govprnor  might  reasonably  be  sup- 
posed to  be  occu()ied  in  the  duties'  of  his  office. 
But  when  a  longer  time  pa8.«ed,  and  still  no  news 
arrived  of  Paubne's  escape,  the  uncertainty  becati  e 
too  great  for  mortal  end-France  :  and  he  was  about 
•to  risk  all  by  descending  into  the  court  through 
the  terret,  when  the  rhalim  eof  the  sentinel  an- 
noun'^ed  the  approach  of  some  one,  and  in  the  next 
moment  the  governor  entered  the  ro<im  his  pale 
featuies  flushed  with  anger,  and  his  lip  quivering 
with  ill-subdued  rage. 

"  Monsieur  de  Blenau  t"  said  he,  in  a  tone  that 
he  hnd  ne\er  before  presumed  to  use  towards  his 
wealthy  prisoner,  "  here  is  something  wrong. 
There  has  be  n  a  woman  in  the  prison  to-night, 
pasbiog  for  that  rascal  woodman's  daughter  :  aud  I 


40  RKJfiELrtO 

am  given  to  understand,  that  she  has  brought  either 
letter  or  message  to  you.  But  J  will  ascertain  the 
truth — By  Heaven!  I  will  ascertain  the  truth  !" 

•'  Have  you  detained  her.  then  ?'  exclaimed  De 
Blenau.  losing  all  cauiion  in  his  fears  for  Pauline. 

'•Oh,h''  Monsieur  le  Comte,''  said  the  gover- 
nor, fixing  on  him  his  keen  and  angry  e}e  j  "  then 
you  do  know  that  she  has  been  here  ?  But  do  you 
know,  sir,  that  it  may  cost  me  my  head  V 

"  Very  possibly,  il  you  lell  any  body,''  replied  De 
Bleaau  ;  who  by  this  time  had  recovered  his  svlf- 
possession,  an.d  had,  upon  reconsideration,  tirawn 
from  iho  governo-'s  speech  a  different  conclusioii 
from  that  which  he  'ana  formed  at  first;  feeliiig 
sure,  that  if  Pauline  had  not  escaped,  bis  !ii);f«r 
would  hive  taken  a  calmer  form.  '"  Listen  t<.  me, 
Sir  Governor,"  continued  he,  firmly,  after  having 
determined  in  his  own  mind  the  line  of  conduct 
which,  he  ought  to  pursue  :  ''  let  us  deal  straight- 
forwardly towards  each  other,  and  like  friends  as 
we  have  hitherto  done.  We  are  both  in  some  de- 
gree in  each  other's  power.  On  your  part,  do  not 
attempt  to  entrap  me  into  any  acknowledgment, 
and  I  will  show  you  that  I  will  not  make  use  of  any 
advantage  you  may  have  given  me — " 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  meaning,  sir/'  cried 
the  governor,  still  angrily  :  '•  I  have  given  you  no 
advantage.  Ba'  Heaven  !  I  will  have  the  apartment 
searched — ay    sir.  and  your  person  too." 

"WilLyoii  so?"  replied  de  Blenau, coolly  draw- 
ing from  his  bosom  the  queen's  billet,  and  approach- 
ing the  edge  to  the  lamp  so  that  it  caught  fire.  The 
governor  started  forwa--d  to  seize  it  j  but  the  strong 
arm  of  the  count  held  him  at  a  distance,  till  the 
few  lines  the  queen  had  written  were  irretrievably 
destroyed  ;  and  then  freeing  him  from  his  grasp,  he 
pointed  to  a  chair,  saving.  "Now,  Monsieur  le 
Gouverneur,  sit  down  ani  listen  to  a  few  words  of 
common  sense."  The  governor  placed  himself  in 
the  chair  with  a  look  of  bitter  malignity  5  but  thia 
•ofletted   down    gradually   into  an    expression   of 


RICHELMfJ,  47 

thoughtful  cunning,  as  De  Blenau  proceeded — 
•'Thus  stands  the  case,"  said  the  count;  "  I  was 
committed  to  your  charge,  I  think,  with  positive 
orders  not  to  allow  me  communication  with  any 
person  whatsoever — was  it  not  so  ?  The  gov'ernor 
assented:  "  It  so  happened,  however,"  co^itinued 
the  count,  with  a  smile,  "  that  at  our  very  first  in- 
terview, you  conceived  a  friendship  for  me  of  the 
most  Ubenil  and  disinterested  nature"  (the  gover- 
nor bit  his  lip),  "  a  sort  of  love  at  first  sight  :  and, 
for  the  sake  of  my  accommodation,  you  not  only 
broke  through  the  positive  commands  of  the  cardi- 
nal prime  minister,  in  suffering  me  once  to  have 
communication  with  another  person,  but  allowed 
such  to  take  place  at  all  times,  according  to  my 
pleasure  ;  and  also  took  especial  pains  to  procure 
the  attendance  of  the  person  J  wished,  paying  him 
with  my  money,  for  which,  and  other  excellent  pur- 
poses, you  have,  within  the  space  of  six  days,  re- 
ceived from  me  upwards  of  one  thousand  crowns." 

The  governor  winced  m>st  desperately  ;  and  ful- 
ly convinced,  that  a  tale  so  told,  would  readily  con- 
vey his  head  under  the  axe  of  the  executioner,  if 
it  reached  the  ears  of  Richelieu,  he  cursed  him- 
self for  a  fool,  De  Blenau  for  a  knave,  and  Philip 
the  woodman  for  something  between  the  two; 
most  devoutly  wishing^  both  the  others  at  the  devil, 
so  he  could  slip  his  own  neck  out  of  the  halter. 

De  Blenau,  without  much  skill  in  reading  the 
mind's  construction  by  the  face,  easily  divined 
what  was  passing  in  his  companion's  bosom  ;  and 
perceiving  him  to  be  much  in  the  situation  of  a 
lame  dog,  he  resolved  still  to  apply  the  lash  a  little, 
before  he  helped  him  over  the  stile.  ''  Well,  Sir 
Governor."  continued  he  ;  now  we  will  suppose,  as 
a  mere  hypothesis  to  reason  upon,  that,  through 
this  very  liberty  which  your  disinterested  kindness 
has  allowed  me  1  have  received  those  communi- 
cations from  without  which  it  was  the  cardinal's 
great  object  to  prevent.  How  ought  you  to  act 
under  such  circumstances  ?    Ought  you  to  go  to 


48  RICHELlEt: 

the  stern,  unrelenting  Rir.helieu,  and  sav  to  him, — 
'  M;iv  it  pie  !SC;  your  eminence.  I  have  ii.tentionally 
and  wilfully  broken  llironah  every  oriier  you  cave 
me — I  have  taken  the  utmost  pains  that  they  should 
not  be  observed  ;  and  I  luwe  so  far  succeeded  in 
tinvartin;^  your  designs,  that  Monsieur  i  e  Blenau, 
from  u'.ora  I  have  received  one  tliousand  crowns, 
and  fn-m  whom  I  expect  a  thousand  more  the  mo- 
ment he  is  lil.'erated — 1  say.  that  t.'.is  good  friend 
of  mine  and  vdur  enemy,  has  gained  all  the  infor- 
m:»tioii  wliich  you  wi>hcd  to  prevent. '—This  would 
be  a  pretty  cnufessinn  of  faith'-" 

De  Blenau  paused  and  the  governor  bit  his  lip  ; 
but  after  a  moment,  ho  looked  the  count  full  in  the 
fif^e  and  replied,  "'Perhaps  it  might  be  the  best 
way." 

Ue  Blenan.  hovvpver  was  not  to  be  deceived  ;  he 
saw  terror  in  tlie  deaiily  hue  of  the  fcnveru'ir's  pale 
cheek,  and  the  anxious  flliiij  of  his  sunken  eye, 
and  he  went  on — •  Perh:ips  it  m'cht  he  the  best 
wiv — to  have  vour  head  .«»riick  off  wthnut  delay  ; 
for  vvha'  would  your  fonfcssi!  n  avail  the  cardinal 
now,  after  the  m  S'  hief  is  ilone  ? — Would  it  not  be 
bet  er  to  sav  to  vourself. — •  Here  is  a  young  noble- 
man, whom  I  lielipve  to  be  imincent — ("or  whom  I 
have  a  retjird — whoirt  "I  h.tve  spi-ved  already,  and 
who  is  both  vvillinpr  niid  ahie  to  rtivnri!  any  fine  who  ' 
does  serve  ).'::ii  ;  and  wh^.  lasfiv.  wi!)  icver  betray 
me,  let  happen  what  will.  I'nder  these  cimum- 
stancps,  should  I  n'tbe  a  f' o]  of  thp  first  water,  to 
inquire  into  a  mitter.  the  t^u'h  ofwi.ich  I  am  verv 
unlikely  to  discover,  a!>d  wh  c'l,  if  I  do,  it  will  be 
m- du'v  to  disf^l  )se  :  whrre.is  ?  tandin_'  as  the  af- 
fair does  now.  wjtliout  mv  knowlediie  in  the  least, 
my  ignorance  makes  mv  innocence,  .nnd  I  betrav  no 
or.e.  Even  suppiising  thit  the  whole  be  found  out. 
I  am  no  vorse  tl'an  I  vvns  b*>f/re.  for  Ihp  storv  r.nn 
but  hp  f'-ld  at  last  :  whih'  -It!  e  count  he  liberated, 
which  m'  -st  likelv  lie  wilt,  in-tp  d  of  lo.sjjij  mv  of- 
fice, or  my  head.  1  shall  gain  a  tjiousind  crowns  to 
indemnify  me  for  all  the   trouble  F  have  had,  and 


RICHELIEU.  49 

shall  ensure  his  friendship  for  Tfe."  Now,  Mon- 
sieur le  Gouverrieur,  this  is  what  you  ought  to  say 
to  yourself.  In  my  opinion,  the  strenglh  of?rgu- 
ment  is  all  on  one  side.  Even  if  there  were  any  thing 
to  know,  you  would  he  a  fool  to  investijiate  it, 
where  you  must  of  necessity  he  your  own  accuser; 
where  all  is  to  be  lost,  and  nothing  can  be  gain- 
ed," 

"  You  argue  well.  Monsieur  do  Blenau."  answer- 
ed the  jrovernor,  thou  htfully  ;  ''and  your  reason- 
ing would  be  conviiicinir.  if  it  extended  to  all  the 
circuinstunces  of  the  case.  But  you  c^o  not  know 
one  half; — you  do  not  know,  tliat  Chiivigni,  from 
whose  eves  nothing  seems  hidden  knew  of  this 
girl's  comi  g.  and  sent  me  an  order  to  detain  her, 
which  that  sottish  fool  tjie  porter  never  gave  nic 
till  she  had  escaped — how  am  I  to  get  over  that, 
pray  ?" 

'•Tnen,  positively,  she  has  escaped  V  demanded 
De  Blenau. 

''  Yes.  yes,  she  has  escaped  "'  replied  the  gover- 
n'^r,  petti>hiy  :  'you  seem  ti>  consider  nothill^  but 
he-;  bu'.  let  me  tell  you.  Monsieur  de  Blenau.  that 
you  are  filly  as  much  concerned  as  I  am  for  if  th^y 
discover  th  it  she  has  got  in,  yf>ij  will  have  a  tou-ch 
of  the  peine  forte  et  dure,  to  make  you  confers  who 
she  i«   and  what  she  c  ime  for,'" 

"Truly,  I  know  not  what  can  be  done."  answered 
the  count.  "Chavigni  seems  to  know  all  about 
it." 

"  No.  no  !  he  doe«!  not  know  all.  replied  the  gov- 
ernor 5  '•  for  he  ■•-av'*  here,  in  his  note,  that  if  a 
yoiintr  ladv,  dressed  \n  7*  jxipe  of  red  serge,  wilh  a 
black  bodice,  comes  to  the  gate  of  the  prison,  ask- 
ing anv  thing  com  ernin<>  the  (^^unt  de  BleiiiiU.we 
are  to  detain  he'- :  now  she  never  pjeniioned  your 
name,  and  God  knows,  1  heeded  not  what  she  was 
dressed  in.'' 

'•Then  the  rnntfer  is  verv  simple,''  replied  the 
count;  "  no  such  person  as  he  bade  you  detain  has 
been   here.    This  is   no  matter  of  honor   betw  een 


so  RICHELIEU. 

man  and  man,  wljere  you  are  bound  trt  speak  your 
suspicions  a3  well  as  your  knowledge.  No  person 
has  corre  to  tlie  gate  of  the  prison  asking  any  tiling 
concerning  me  ;  and  so  answer  Chavifini." 

''  But  tlie  porter.  Monsieur  de  Blennu."  said  the 
officer,  anxiously. — "  he  may  peach.  All  the  other 
dependents  on  the  prison  are  mv  own,  placed  by 
me  and  would  turn  out  were  I  to  lose  my  r.ffice  ; 
but  this  porter  was  named  by  the  cardinal  hiiuseir. 
— What  is  to  be  done  with  hira  ?" 

"  Oh  !  fear  not  him,''  answered  De  Blennu  ;  'as 
his  negligence  was  the  cause  of  your  not  receiving 
the  order  in  time  to  render  it  effectual,  your  silence 
will  be  a  favor  to  him." 

"  True  !  true  1"  cried  the  governor,  rubbing  his 
hands  with  all  the  rapture  of  a  man  suddenly  re- 
lieved from  a  mortal  emharrassment  "  True  !  tru«  ! 
I'll  (jo  and  bully  him  directly — 111  threaten  to  in- 
form the  cardinal.  Chaviapi.and  the  whole  council-, 
and  then — wlien  he  heums  to  fancy  that  he  feels  the 
Tery  rope  round  his  neck— I'll  relent,  and  be  charit- 
able, and  agree  to  conceal  his  mistake,  and  to  swear 
that  the  lady  never  came. — How  will  Cha*  igni 
know  ?  She  will  never  confess  it  herself,  and  at 
that  hour  it  was  too  dark  for  any  one  to  watch  her 
up  to  the  gates. — Morblcau!  that  will  do  precise- 
ly." 

"  I  see  little  or  no  danger  attending  upon  it," 
said  the  orisoner ;  '■'  and.  at  all  events,  it  is  a  great 
deal  better  than  conveying  your  neck  into  ihe  noose, 
which  you  would  certainly  do  by  confessing  to 
Richelieu  the  circumstances  as  they  have  occur- 
ed." 

'•  Well,  well,  we  will  risk  it,  at  all  events,"  re- 
plied the  governor,  who.  though  not  quite  free  from 
ar)preh'?n3ion  respectins  the  result,  had  now  refrain- 
ed hisu-ual  sweet  complacency  of  manner.  "  But 
onethini,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,  I  am  su-f^  you  wnl 
promise  me  ;  namely,  that  this  a^temot  sh  lil  never 
be  repeated,  even  if  occasion  should  occur  ;  andTor 
the  rest — with   regard  to  your  never  betraying  me, 


RIOHBLiBtt.  51 

and  other  promises  which  your  words  imply,  I  will 
trust  to  your  hon'^ur." 

De  Bler>fm  readily  agreed  to  what  the  governor 
required,  and  repeated  I.;s  promises  never  to  dis- 
close any  thing  that  imd  occurred,  and  to  reward  hia 
assistance  with  a  thousand  crowns,  upon  being  lib- 
erated. Mindful  of  all  wlio  served  him,  he  did  not 
forget  Philip  the  woodman  ;  and  deeply  thankful  for 
the  escape  of  Pauline,  was  the  more  anxious  lo  as- 
certain the  fate  of  one  who  had  so  greatly  contribut- 
ed to  the  success  of  her  enterprise. 

'•Speak  not  of  him  !  speak  not  of  him  !"  exclaimed 
the  governor,  breaking  forth  into  passion  at  De  Ble- 
nau's  inquiries.  "  This  same  skiifu!  p!"ttcr  attends 
upon  you  no  longer.  You  wi'I  snifer  some  incon- 
venience for  your  scheme  5  but  i)  is  your  fault,  not 
mine,  and  you  must  put  up  with  it  as  best  \  on  may." 

"  That  i  care  not  about,  "  replied  De  Blenau. 
"  But  I  insist  upon  it  that  he  be  treated  with  no  se- 
verity. Mark  me,  Monsieur  le  Governeur:  if  I  find 
that  he  is  ill  used,  Chavigni  shall  here  of  the  whole 
business.  I  will  risk  any  thina;  sooner  than  see  a 
man  suffer  from  his  kindness  for  me.  " 

"  You  paid  him  well,  of  course."  said  the  gover- 
nor. dra\\irg  up  his  lip.  "and  he  must  take  his 
chance.  However  do  not  alarm  }  outself  for  him  : 
he  shall  be  taken  care  of— only,  with  your  good 
leave.  Seigneur  Comte,  you  and  he  do  not  meet 
again  within  the  walls  of  the  Basiille.—But  in  the 
name  of  Heaven  !  what  clatter  i  this  at  the  door  ?" 
lie  exclaimed,  starting  from  hi>-^  chair,  at  a  most  un- 
usual noise  which  proceded  from  the  staircase. 

The  governor. indeed, had  good  reison  to  be  aston- 
ished; for  never  was  there  a  more  stransje  and  incon- 
sistent sound  heard  within  the  walls  of  a  pri^on.than 
that  which  s^aluted  their  ears.  First  came  the  ■Qui 
vive  ?"  of  the  spniinel ;  to  which  a  voire  roared  out, 
«  Lediable!"  Qidvive?'  cried  tbc  sentinel  again, 
in  a  still  sharper  key.  The  answer  to  this  was  no- 
thing but  a  clatter,  as  the  governor  had  expressed  it, 
such  at  we  might  suppose  produced  by  the  blowing 


62  IIIUHELIEU. 

up  of  a  stenra-kitclien  :  then  followed  the  discharge 
of  the  sentii  el's  I'relocl;  ;  anfl  then  sundry  blows 
given  an>i  received  upon  some  hard  and  sonorcus 
siiastaiice.  mingled  with  various  oaths,  execratioris, 
and  expletives  then  in  use  among  the  lower  classes 
of  Ills  Christian  majesty's  lieges  making  altogether 
a  most  deafening  din. 

At  this  sound  the  governor,  as  little  able  to  con- 
ceive wben<"e  it  originated  as  De  Blennu  himself, 
drew  his  sword,  and  thro  ■  ingopen  the  door,  discov- 
e.ei  the  redoubtable  Jacques  Chatpilleur.  culsinier 
aubergiste,  striding  in  triumph  over  the  prostrate 
body  of  the  sentinel,  and  wavng  over  his  head  an 
immense  stew-pan.  bein^  the  v\p'apon  with  which  he 
had  achieved  the  victory,  and  through  wliich  a,.pear- 
ed  a  smi!l  rf^und  hole.  cau.>ed  by  the  bai!  of  the 
soldier's tireloik.  In  the  mean  while  wast-  b>  seen 
the  sentinel  on  the  gf;>und.  Iiis  iron  morion  actually 
dented  by  the  blows  of  his  adversary,  and  his  iace 
and  garments  bedabhled.  not  with  blood,  indeed, 
but  with  the  poulet  en  blanqxietU  ^\\d  its  white  sauce, 
which  had  erst  been  tenairt  of  the  stew  p.-^n. 

'  Victc^ria!  victoria!  victoria  I"'  shoted  the  awicr- 
gisle,  waving  his  stew  pan  ;  ■'  Twice  have  1  conqured 
in  one  night  ;  (-an  Mielraye  or  Bouillon  say  that  ? 
V'Cfi>ria  .'  victoria  .'"'  B'lt  here  his  triumph  received 
a  check  ;  for  lookins  into  the  unhappy  utensil  he 
eu'irionlv  perceived  the  loss  of  its  content*,  which 
had  flown  all  over  the  place,  the  treacherous  lid 
having  detached  t.«elf  durinjr  his  conflict  with  the 
sentinel,  and  sought  snfetv  in  fli':!!t  down  the  stairs. 
"  Monpoxdet!  mon  potdct .'  exclaimed  be.  in  a  tone 
of  bitter  despair.  '  le  nid  y  est  mais  V  oiaean  est 
parii. — the  nest  is  there,  but  the  bird  is  flown. 
Hrlas.  mon  poidet !  mon  paiivre  povM ! ''  and  quit- 
tinir  the  bodv  of  his  prostrate  foe.  he  advanced  into 
the  apartment  with  that  sort  o."  zigzas  mf'tiou  which 
shiiwRi!  that  the  thin  sinpvvv  shanks  which  sut'portpil 
his  woodcock  shaped  upt>pr  irtan.  were  son)ewhat 
atlectrd  by  a  more  than  usual  quantity  <-f  the  gen- 
€rou3  grape. 

The  whole  iBcene  was  so  inexprcssibl/  ludicxouf. 


•RICHELIL17.  58 

that  De  Blenau  burst  into  911  immoderate  fit  of  laugh- 
ter, in  wliich  the  governor  couid  not  help  joiiiing, 
notwithstanding  his  indignation  at  the  treatment  the 
sentinel  had  experienced.  Recovering  himsell" how- 
ever, he  ptiUied  forth  his  wrath  upon  tlie  aubergiste 
in  no  measured  terms,  demanding  how  he  dared  to 
conduct  himself  so  in  tlie  royal  chateau  of  the 
Bastille,  and  what  had  become  of  the  Count  de 
Blenau's  supper,  adding  a  few  qualificatory  epithets, 
which  may  as  well  be  omitted. 

•'  Eh  bien,  monsieur  !  E/ibien!"  cried  the  a«6er- 
giste,  with  very  i'ttle  respect  lor  the  governor^'*  as 
for  the  gentlemnn  there,  lying  on  Ins  bcliy.he  ought 
to  have  let  me  in,  and  not  tired  his  piece  at  me. 
He  knew  lue  well  enough.  He  might  have  cried 
Q,uivive?  once, — tliat  was  well,  aa  it  is  the  eti- 
quette. " 

"But  why  did  you  not  answer  him,  cacre  maraud  ?" 
cried  the  governor. 

*'  I  did  answer  hin>, ''*  replied  the  other,  stoutly, 
"He  cried  Qyiivive  ?  and  I  ans-ered  Lidiable,  car 
le  diable  vive  totcjout^.  And  as  f.r  ihe  supper,  I 
have  lost  it  ail.  Je  V  ai  perdu  tulre  deiix  mating. 
The  first  was  a  greedy  iNonnan  vagabond,  who  teed^ 
at  my  auberge  ;  and  while  1  was  out  for  a  minute, 
he  whips  mti  up  my  matzlot  d  auguille  from  out  of 
Ihe  casserole,  and  my  cfmde  piquee  from  the  spit, 
and  when  J  caine  back  five  minutes  after,  tiiere  was 
nothing  left  but  bare  bones  and  empty  bottles.  Par- 
die  !  And  now  I  have  bes  oweii  fin  the  bead  of  that 
varlet  a  poulet  en  blanqueUe  iliat  miglil  have  'om- 
forted  tne  stouinch  of  a  king.  Oh  Dieu!  Dieu! 
mes  malheurs  me  jiniront  Jaraaio.  On  !  but  I  for- 
got, "  he  continued.  '•  there  is  still  a  fricandtau 
a  l  oseillc  with  a  cold  pale  that  will  do  for  want  of 
a  bet  er  — iMonseigJicur,  voire  serviteur.  "  and  he 
bowed  five   or  six  times  to  De  Blenau  ;  ••  Moiuitur 

Ile  Gouverneur,  voire  tres  humble ,  "  and  bov\ing  round 
and  round  to  every  one,  even  to  the  sei.iinel,  ^%lio  by 
this  time  was  beginning  to  recover  his  feet,  the  tipsy 
aubergiste  stagrered   off.  escaping  me  wrath    .^f  Lhe- 


54  IllOHELlEO. 

governor  by  the  promise  tf  the  fricandeau,  but  not, 

however,  without   being   threatened   with    punish- 
ment CD  the  morrow . 


CHAPTER  V 


The  bureau  of  a  Counsellor  of  Slate,  or  how  things  were] man- 
flgeJ  in  1642 

"Marteviile,  you  have  served  me  essentially/' said 
the  Count  de  Chavigni  as  soon  as  he  had  left  Pau- 
line in  what  was  called  the  ladies'  hall  of  the  Hotel 
de  Bouthilliers,  addressing  the  tall  jSorman,  whom 
the  reader  has  already  recngnised  beyond  a  doubt. 
''  You  know  I  never  suffer  any  good  service  to  go 
without  its  reward  5  therefore  I  will  now  pay  you 
yours,  more  especially  as  1  have  fresh  demands  to 
make  upon  your  zed.  Let  us  see  how  our  accounts 
stand.; ''  and  approaching  a  small  table,  which  serv- 
ed both  for  the  purposes  of  a  writing-desk  and  also 
to  support  a  strong  ebony  cabinet  clasped  with 
silver,  he  drew  forth  a  bunch  of  keys  and  opened  a 
draw  plated  with  iron,  which  contained  a  quantity 
of  gold  and  silver  coin.  Chavigni  then  seated  him- 
self at  the  table,  and  the  Norman  standing  on  his 
right-hand,  they  began  regularly  toljalonce  accounts, 
the  items  of  tiie  Norman's  charge  being  various 
services  of  rather  a  curious  nature. 

'•  For  stopping  the  archduke's  courier,  "  said  Cha- 
Tiani  "  and  taking  from  liim  his  despatches — fifty 
crowns  is  enough  for  that.  '' 

"  1  demand  no  raore,  "  said  Marlevillej  "  any  com- 
mon thief  could  have  done  it." 

"  But.  by-the-way.  I  hope  you  did  not  hurt  him, 
for  he  came  with  a  safe  conduct.  " 

'•  Hurt  him  '  no, "  replied  the  Norman  :  "  we  are 


RICIltLIEf.  55 

the  best  friends  in  the  world.  When  1  met  him  on 
the  road,  I  told  lam  civilly  that  1  must  have  his 
despatches  ;  and  that  I  would  either  cut  his  throat 
or  drink  a  bottle  with  liim.  whichever  he  liked  ;  so 
he  chose  the  latter,  and  when  we  parted,  he  promi- 
sed to  give  me  notice  the  next  time  he  came  on  the 
same  errand.  " 

"The  rascal!"  said  Chavigni,  '' that  is  the  way 
we  are  served.  But  now  we  come  to  this  business 
of  the  Count  dc  Blenau — what  do  you  expect  for 
the  whole  concern  V 

"Nay  but  monseigneur,  you  forget,"  exclaimed 
the  other ;  '•  there  is  one  little  item  before  that. 
Put  down, — for  being  an  astrologer." 

"  Why.  1  have  given  you  fifty  crowns  on  that  ac- 
count already,  "  rejoined  the  statesman  j  "  you  are 
exorbitant,  Seigneur  Marteville. '' 

"That fifty  crowns  went  for  my  expenses — all  of 
it,  "  replied  the  other.  '•  There  was  my  long  black 
robe  all  covered  with  gimcracks  ;  there  was  my  lea- 
thern belt,  painted  with  all  the  signs  under  heaven; 
there  was  my  white  beard,  and  wig,  which  cost  me 
ten  good  crowns  at  the  shop  of  Jansen  the  perquier  : 
■esides  the  harness  of  my  horse,  which  was  made 
to  suit,  and  my  astrologer's  bonnet,  which  kept  all 
fast  upon  my  head.  INow,  monsei2;neur.ycu  cannot 
give  me  less  than  fifty  crowns,  for  being  cut  two 
nights,  and  running  the  risk  of  being  burnt  alive.  " 

"  I  tiiink  not,  "  said  Chavigni,  '•  so  let  that  pr\ss. 
But  to  come  to  the  other  business.  " 

'•'Why  first  and  foremost,"  replied  the  Norman, 
marking  each  article  as  he  named  it,  by  laying  the 
index  of  his  right  hand  upon  one  of  the  imnicnse 
fingers  of  his  left, — ••  For  making  love  to  mademoi- 
selle's niaid  " 

••  Nay,  nay,  nay!"  cri<>d  Chavigni,  "  this  is  too 
much.  That  must  be  part  of  the  dower  I  have  prom- 
ised with  her,  ofvyhich  we  will  talk  presently.  But 
have  you  married  her  V 

"No,"  answered  the  Norman,  "not  yet.  We 
will  see  nbont  that  hereafter." 


M  EIGHELIEU. 

Chavigiii's  cheek  reddened,  and  his  brow  knit  into 
a  hea?}- fr.nvn.  "  No  evasions,  tir.  I  commrmdpil 
you.  when  you  look  her  awoy  last  niglit  '.rom  Chnn- 
tilly,  10  marry  i.er  directly,  and  you  agreed  to  do  so. 
VVuy  is  it  not  done  ?  '' 

"  If  the  truth  must  le  told,  monseigneur,  it  is  not 
done,  because  it  goes  ngamst  a  NiTnian  cientleman's 
stomach  to  lake  up  with  anybody's  cast-offs."' 

"  Do  not  be  insolent  sir,'  cried  ll:e  statesman. 
''Did  I  not  give  you  my  honour  that  your  eu^picion 
was  false  ?  Know,  sir,  that  though  Chavigrni  may 
sometimes  con(le>C"nd  to  converse  wiih  you,  or 
may  appear  to  tritle  for  a  moment  with  a  girl  like 
ti)is  Louise,  it  is  merely  to  gain  some  greater  object 
that  he  does  so,  and  that  unless  it  be  for  sf  me 
state  purpose,  he  never  honours  such  beings  w^ith 
his  Ihoiiohts." 

"  Weil  well,  monseianeur,''  replied  the  other,  see- 
ittg  the  fire  that  flsshed  in  his  lord's  eye,  ''  I  will 
marry  her:  Foy  de  Normand!  Don't  be  angry;  I 
will  mary  her.'" 

"  Foy  de  Normand  !  will  not  do,"  said  Chavigni, 
'•  It  must  be  this  very  night."  ' 

'•Eh  bine!  eh  bine!  soil,''  cried  the  Norman, 
and  then  muttered  to  himself  with  a  grin,  "  I've  four 
wives  now  living;  a  filth  wont  make  much  differ- 
ence." 

"  What  murmur  you,  sir  ?"  demanded  the  states- 
man. '"Mark  me!  in  one  hour  from  hence  \oa 
will  find  a  priest  and  two  witnesses  in  the  cardinal's 
chapel  !  When  yni  are  einrricd.  the  priest  will  give 
you  a  cerlifir-ate  of  tlie  ceremor.y,  carry  it  to  my 
intendan  .  ana  upon  the  sight  ol"  it  he  tvill  pay  you 
the  su:n  we  agree  upon.  Jsow,  proceed  with  your 
demands." 

*•  V/ell  then,  monseigneur,"  continued  Marteville, 
'•  what  is  the  iiiformTion  concerning  mademoiselle's 
corning  to  Pnrts  worih  ?"' 

"  his  worth  a  goodde.il.'"  rrpli'^d  Chavigoi,  ••'and 
I  will  always  pay  more  lor  knowledge  of  that  kind 


RICUKLIKU.  57 

nyacisot  brute  force.  Set  that  down  for  a 
hundred  cro\vns,  and  fifty  more  for  catching  the 
young  lady,  r.nd  bringing  her  here  5  making  alto- 
gether two  hundred  and  iilly." 

"  Yes,  sir,  yes  ;  but  the  dot — the  dowry  you  men- 
tioned," cried  the  Normaii.  '•'  You  have  forgot 
that." 

"  ]No,  I  have  not,''  replied  Chavigni.  "  In  favor 
of  Louise  I  will  make  the  sum  up  one  thousand 
crowns,  which  you  will  receive  the  moment  you 
have  married  her.' 

"Oh  !  ril  marry  lier  directly,  if  that  be  the  case." 
cried  the  Jsorman.  "  Alorbleait !  that  makes  all  the 
difference.  ■' 

"  But  treat  her  kindly,"  said  Chavigni.  "  With 
the  stipend  of  a  thousand  crowns,  which  I  alluw 
yon  yearly,  and  what  you  can  gnin  by  particular  ser- 
vices, you  ninylive  very  well;  and  perhaps  I  may 
add  some  Utile  gratification,  if  you  please  me  in 
your  conduct  towards  your  wife." 

"  Oh  ■  ill  bo  ihe  tendorest  husband  living,"  cried 
the  j\'orrnan,  si.nce  my  gratification  depends  upon 
hers,  lint  i'il  run  and  fetch  her  to  be  married, 
directly,  if  you  will  send  the  priest,  monseigneur." 

•'  jXay.stop  a  morrcnt,''  said  the  statesman.  ''You 
forgot  that  1  told  you  I  had  other  journeys  for  you 
to  take,  and  oilier  services  to  perform." 

'•  ISo,  sir,"  answered  the  Norman,  "  all  is  prepar- 
ed to  set  out  this  very  night,  if  you  will  tell  my 
errand." 

Chavigni  paused  for  a  moment,  and  remained  in 
deep  thought,  gnawing  his  lips  as  if  embarrassed  by 
doubts  as  to  the  best  mann'i-  ofproceeding.  "  Mark 
me,  Martevilie,"  said  he  at  length  :  "  there  are  two 
or  three  sorts  of  scoundrels  in  the  world,  among 
whom  r  do  not  lc>ok  upon  you  as  the  least."  The 
Norman  bowed  with  the  utmost  composure,  wery 
well  aware  of  the  place  he  held  in  Chavigni's  opin- 
ion. "  There  are,  however,  some  good  points  about 
you,"  continued  the  statesman  ;  at  which  Martevilie 

vol..  u.  5 


0g  RICHELIEU 

bowed  again  "You  would  rob,  kill  nnd  pftrnder.  t 
believe,  without  rensorse.  any  oix-  vdu  haic  "••  did 
not  rare  aboul,-,  Ijut  I  do  nni  Unnk  you  would  for- 
get a  kindii  ss  or  betrav  a  irivst." 

"  Never  f  said  the  jNorrnan  :  '•'  red  hot  pinchers 
will  not  tear  rrom  me  wh.it  is  iatrusted  to  my  hoa- 
our.  "•* 

"  So  be  it.  then,  in  the  present  instance,"  sa-id 
Ch.iviizni  ;  •'  fnr  I  am  obliged  to  givs  you  tlie  ktiowl- 
edge  of  things,  mid  to  enter  into  e.\plan,->tioi!S  with 
you  v.hi»h  I  do  not  often  do  with  n'-y  one.  You 
must  know,  then.  1  have  inforina'ion  that  on  the 
same  day  that  Monsieur  de  Cinq,  Mars  set  otrt  from 
Chantilly  ^iih  MonsieL-r  de  Tl.ou,  liie  Duke  of  Or- 
leans, with  Montressor  and  St.  Ii)a!,  tor.k  tlioirde- 
pa»-ture  from  Moulins,  and  the  Count  de  Fontrailles 
fr'un  Paris.  They  nil  journeyed  lownrds  tije  same 
point  in  ClKim;»ajne.  I  can  trace  x^cnirailles  to 
Troyes.  tlisduke  anii  his  comp.iiuuns  to  Vil!eii»'uve, 
and  CTinq  Mars  and  De  Tlniii  to  Xogent,  but  no 
farther.  All  this  might  be  accidental,  but  rhere  are 
crcumstances  that  create  suspicii'-n  in  my  mind. 
Cinq  Mars,  when  he  set  ft>rth,  j?ave  out  that  he 
went  to  his  estate  near  Troyps,  in  wiiirh  1  find  he 
never  set  Ids  foot;  and  when  he  returned,  his  con- 
ference \Nith  l,"uis  was  somewhnt  icnir.  It  niiiiht 
have  been  of  liawks  and  liounis,  it  is  true  ;  but  alter 
it.  l!ie  kinj.''?  manner  biiih  tu  t!ie  cariiinal  and  my- 
self was  cdd  and  haugltty,  an!  he  sudilen'y  t<iok 
this  resolutiDU  of  coming  to  Paris  himsel  to'esaut- 
ine  into  tiie  case  of  the  young  Count  de  Bienau  :  in 
short,  1  suspect  that  snme  pint  is  on  fot.  Wliat  I 
require  I'f  you  then  is.  t<i  hasten  down  to  Cham- 
pagne ;  irv  to  trace  each  ofiiicse  peri-ons,  and  dis- 
cover d'they  had  a  conference,  a^ici  where  5  find  out 
the  business  that  hrougl.t  f-acii  Oi'  li.em  so  tar,  ex- 
amine their  tr.ick  as  you  would  the  *lot  of  a  deer, 
and  give  me  winiiever  inturmaiion  \  ou  collect  j 
employ  ever  means  to  g:dn  a  ttiOrou;;h  knowledjie 
ofnli  their  proceedings— tVnce  shou'tl  it  Le  requir- 
ed— but  let  Uiit   o  J  the  last  thing   used-     Here  ia 


RICHELirW.  59 

this  signet,  upon  the  si;:xnet  of  which  all  the  agenta 
of  government  in  the  diHerent  towns  and  villages 
will  romniunicate  uiih  ynu."  And  he  drew  from 
his  fiigera  small  seal  ring,  which  the  Ntirmnn  con- 
signed to  his  po(  ket,  his  hands  being  somewliat  loo 
large  to  admit  of  his  wearing  it  in  the  usual  man- 
ner. 

"  The  Biike  of  Orleans  and  his  pack  T  know  well," 
answered  Marteville.  "  and  also  Cmq  Mars  oml  De 
1'hoii ;  but  iliis  Cuunt  de  Fontrailles-^what  like  is 
he,  monseigneur  ?" 

"  He  is  a  Utile  ugly  mean  looking  man."  replied 
Chavigni ;  "he  frequently  dresses  himself  in  gray, 
and  looks  like  a  sorcerer.  Make  him  your  lirsi  ob- 
ject;  for  if  ever  there  was  a  devil  of  cunning  upon 
earth,  it  is  FontraiUes.  and  he  is  at  the  bottom  of 
the  plot  if  there  he  one." 

"  Vou  traced  him  to  Troves,  you  sav,  monseign- 
eur ?     Had  he  any  pretence  of  business  there  1" 

"None."  answered  C-'liavigni  ;  "  my  account  sayg 
that  he  had  no  attendants  with  him,  lodged  at  the 
Axiberge  da  Grand  Soleil   and  vnus  poorly  dressed." 

"  I  will  trace  l.im  if  he  were  the  devil  hiiiiself," 
said  the  Norman  J  "and  befnre  I  see  you  again, 
monseigneur.  1  shall  be  able  to  account  for  each  of 
these  gentry  "     ' 

*'  If  you  do," said  Chavigni,  "  a  thousand  crowns 
is  your  reward;  and  if  you  discover  any  plot  or 
treasonable  enterprise,  ^o  that  by  your  means  they 
may  be  foiled  and  br<»ughl  to  justice,  the  thousand 
shall  grow  into  ten  thousand,  and  you  shall  have  a 
place  that  will  give  you  a  life  of  luxury." 

The  Norman's  eyes  sparkled  at  ti.e  anticipation, 
and  his  imagination  portrayed  himself  and  his  five 
wives  living  togetlierin  celestial  harmony,  drinking 
the  best  vintages  of  Burgundy  and  Epernav,  eating 
the  best  vintaiies  of  the  fat  of  the  land,  and  singing 
like  mad.  Thes'^  blissful  ideas  were  first  interrupt- 
ed by  the  sound  of  the  horses'  feet  in  the  court. 
"Hark!"  cried  Chavigni,  "  they   are  putting   the 


60  RICIIELIKU. 

horses  to  the  carriage  ;  go  do-vn  and  see  that  all  be 
prepared  for  tlie  yuuiiglady  s  journej." 

•'  Instantly, '  answered  tlie  iV'  rman,  '•  and  after 
that  1  will  carry  Louise  to  the  priest,  linger)  our 
lordship's  cish,  ano  we  will  set  ort  for  Tro\es.'' 

"  Do  you  intend  to  t;ike  her  with  you  ?'"  demand- 
ed Chavigni.  in  some  surprise. 

"  yvA}  ,  my  lord,  you  would  not  wish  me  to  leave 
my  britle  on  our  wedding  niglit.  surely,"  replied  the 
jNonilan,  in  a  mock  sentimental  tone.  "  But  the 
truth  is,  I  ihink  siie  may  be  uselul.  Woman's  '^it 
will  olten  find  a  way  where  man's  wir  !  m  looks  in 
vain;  and  as  I  have  now,  thanks  to  \f,ur  bounty, 
two  good  horses,  1  shall  e'en  set  L<^.u:se  upon  one 
of  them,  and  %vith  the  bridle  rein  ove?  my  arm  lead 
her  to  Brie,  whore,  with  your  Liood  leave,  '■'. e  will 
sleep,  and  thence  on  upon  our  journey  Travel- 
ling s%il!i  a  woman,  no  one  will  suspect  my  real  ob- 
ject, and  I  shall  come  sooner  at  my  ;  urpose."' 

*•  ^Vell,  so  be  it  then,"  answered  the  statesman. 
"  Vou  are  now,  as  }ou  wished  to  be,  intrusted  with 
an  aliair  of  ui.ire  importance  than  stopping  a couher,^ 
or  carrying  oif  a  weak  girl;  and  as  th.c  reward  is 
greater,  so  would  be  the  punislunent  in  case  you 
weie  to  betray  your  trust.  I  rely  on  your  honor  ; 
but  let  me  hint  at  the  same  tim.e',  that  there  is  such 
a  iliiiig  as  the  rack,  which  has  more  than  once 
been  a()plied  to  persons  who  reve  1  state  secrets. 
Keep  good  account  of  your  expenses,  and  such  as 
are  truly  incurred  for  the  government  the  govern- 
ment will  pay." 

Thus  enticd  the  conference  between  Chavigni 
and  the  iXorman,  neither  of  whom  we  shall  follow 
much  farther  at  present.  Of  Chavigni  it  is  only 
necessary  to  say.  itiat  immediately  alter  the  depar- 
ture of  l^auline.  he  proceeded  to  the  Louvre  lo  wait 
the  arrival  of  Louis  the  Thirteenth,  who  soon  after 
entered  Paris,  accompanied  by  the  queen,  Cinq 
Mars,  .ind  all  the  usual  attendants  of  the  court,  and 
foUoweii  !  V  the  cardinal  and  those  members  of  the 


racUELlEU.  61 

council  wlio  had  not  previously  arrived  along  with 
Cliavigni. 

in  re:rard  to  the  Norman,  inspired  by  the  acrreea- 
ble  prospect  of  a  thousand  crowns,  lie  was  not  long 
in  visiting  tlie  chapel  of  tlie  Filial-*  Cardinal,  where 
the  priest  spcpdily  united  him  to  a  black-eyed  dam- 
sel, that  he  brought  in  his  hand.  Who  ihis  was, 
it  does  not  suit  me  to  discover  to  the  reader.  If  he 
have  found  it  out  already,  !  cannot  help  it  ;  but  if  he 
have  not,  1  vow  and  protest  that  in  the  whole  course 
of  this  true  history  I  will  aiiord  him  no  farther  ex- 
planation ;  no,  not  even  in  the  last  sentence  of  the 
last  page  of  the  last  volume. 

Immediately  after  their  marriage  the  Norman  p'Jt 
his  bri(ie  upon  hori^eback  and  proceeded  to  Brie, 
each  carrying  behind  them  a  valise,  containing  a 
variety  of  articles  which  would  doubtless  greatly 
edifv  the  reader  to  learn,  but  which  unfortunately 
cannot  now  be  detailed  at  full  length,  the  schedule 
having  been  lost  some  ye;irs  alter  by  one  of  their 
collateral  descendants  in  the  great  fire  of  London, 
where  it  had  found  its  way  in  consequence  of  the 
revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes.  All  that  can  be 
affirmed  with  certainty  is.  I'.'at  in  the  valise  of  the 
Norman  were  th-ee  shirts  and  a  half  with  fall  ng 
collars,  according  to  the  fashion  of  that  day  ;  a 
pourpoint  or  doublet  of  blue  velvet  (which  was  his 
best),  and  a  cloak  to  match  ;  also  (of  the  same  stutf| 
a  hatit-dediausses.  which  was  a  machine  then  used 
for  the  s:ime  purpose  as  a  pair  of  breeches  now-a- 
days ;  and  over  and  above  all  the  rest  vvas  his  as- 
trologer's robe  and  gray  beard,  folded  round  a  su- 
pernumerary brace  of  pistols,  and  a  small  stiletto. 
Into  the  lady's  wardrobe  we  shall  not  inquire  :  suf- 
fice it  1o  say,  that  it  accompanied  its  msKlress  safe 
from  Brie  to  Troves,  where,  putting  up  at  the 
Grand  Suliel.  the  Norman  bc^an  his  perquisitions 
concerniug  Foutraiiies.  "     , 


«s  KieRELjiae. 


CHAPTER  VI 


Showing  hoi?  agreat  minister  made  a  great  mislake. 

Strange  to  say,  in  the  manuscript  notes  from 
whicli  this  true  history  is  derived,  there  occurs  the 
most  extraordinnrv  omissio '.  that  perhaps  ever  ap- 
peaniii  in  the  writings  of  any  one  pretending  to  ac- 
curacy ;  and,  most  provoking  of  all.  I  have  searched 
meiMO  rs  and  annals,  histories  and  letters,  state  pa- 
pers and  private  memoranda,  antl  have  consulted 
all  sorls  of  tradition,  oral  and  written,  without  be- 
ing enabled  to  supply  from  a^y  other  source  the 
neglect  of  the  original  historiui.  Who  woul<l  be- 
lieve, tliat,  after  having  interes'pd  the  reader  so 
d-eplv  in  the  character  of  Jiiques  Chitpilleu- ,  Cuisi- 
flier  Auherglste.  the  writer  of  the  above-mentioned 
notes  would  be  so  inconsiderate,  so  stupid,  so  dis- 
appointing, as  not  to  say  one  word  concerninsi  the 
farther  pri'gress  of  the  redoubtable  vivandier  on  that 
niglit,  wherein  he  achieved  the  two  famous  victo- 
ries recorded  in  a  precedmir  chapter.  But  so  it  is  : 
instead  <>f  giving  us  a  pathetic  account  of  the  scanty 
«upper  he  at  length  contrived  to  furriisli  forth  for 
the  nol.'le  prisoner,  «r  of  snt  sfying  our  curiosity  in 
rcirard  tn  the  means  he  employed  to  anpease  the 
wrath  of  the  governor,  the  notes  skip  over  the  far- 
ther proceedinns  »>f  that  entire  night,  and  bring  us 
aton'-e  upon  the  Count  de  Blennu's  levee  the  next 
morniiig  ;  entering  into  very  minute  details  concern- 
ing the  difficulties  he  encountered  in  arranging  hts 
mustaches,  buttoning  his  ponrooint.  (fcc,  v\ithout 
assistance  ;  a!l  of  which  I  shall  pass  over  as  con- 
teinplihle  and  ir  elevant,  and  below  the  dignity  of 
authentic   history. 

Wi'.Ji  the  embarrassment  of  the  Count  de  Ble- 
nau  s  mind  we  have  something  more  to  do  ;  and,  to 
tell  the  truth,  the  more  he  reflected  upon  his  situa- 
tion, the  more  he  was  puzzled  in  regard  to  his  future 


RICHELIED.  ^f 

conduct.  A  fresh  examination,  either  by  Lafemas 
or  some  new  member  of  the  council,  was  to  be  ex- 
pected speedily,  under  which  he  must  either  stiil 
refuse  to  answer,  wliich  would  infallibly  be  followed 
by  the  peine  forte  et  dure:  or  he  must  acknowledge 
that  Ihn  queea  had  privily  conveyed  him  an  orrler 
to  confess  all,  which  wt?uhl  involve  his  royal  mis- 
tress and  nifHselt"  ajid  Pauline  in  dangers,  the  extent 
of  which  he  h^irdly  knew  •,  or  he  nmst  reply  o  the 
questions  he  had  bel'one  refused  to  answer,  an4  dis- 
close what  had  been  imrusied  to  his  honor,  without 
ehowinix  tiiat  he  was  authorized  to  do  so  ;  in  whiiph 
case  the  reproach  of  treachery  and  cowardice  mujst 
inevitably  fill  upon  his  name,  'I'his  was  a  dilem- 
laa  witta  three  horns,  and  e  ich  very  sharp ;  so  that 
it  was  difficult  to  determine  which  to  jurpp  upon, 
and  seetn'ujfly  inijios-ible  to  avoid  them  all  De 
Blenau  was  sadly  chewing  the  :ud  of  the^e  hitter 
doub's.  when  he  he  ird  some  one  en»er  the  ou'er 
chamber;  and  the  moment  after,  the  very  privitcy  of 
his  bed  r<iom  was  invaded  by  the  poxernnr  v  ho  en- 
tered with  a  countenance  paie  and  agitat^  ;  and 
who.  like  all  [leople  who  have  somethinL?  horrible 
to  communicate.  beiriie<l  him  not  to  n  alariji**d.  in 
a  tone  that  was  enough  to  frighten  him  out  of  iiis 
wits. 

'•  Alarmed  at  what  ?"  demanded  the  count,  sum- 
moninj  courage  to  encounter  the  danger,  whatever 
it  might  be. 

"  Wliy.  Monsieur  de  Blenau."'  answered  .the  gov- 
ernor. '  voij  must  prei^a'-e  yourself  to  meet  the  car- 
dinal himseli  ^^  a  messeniicr  has  ju>t  rome  to  say 
that  he  will  be  here  in  person  witiiout  loss  of  time. 
•He  arrived  last  \\\zV\.  at  the  Palais  Cardinal^  and 
JUronulit  the  kinz  to  P  iris  with  him.' 

"  Yo«  seern  to  hold  th.is  cardinal  in  some  ffiAr," 
^ai'^  D''.  B'ennu.  almo.-it  smilinjr.  amid  his  own  em- 
barrassment, a;  the  evident  terror  of  the  governor, 
^'1  couid  have  wished  tliat  he  had  given  me  a  little 
jfuoie  time  for   consideration  ;    but  I  .am  JVftt  ^o 


64 


uicHKLun;. 


frightened  at  him  us  you  seem  to  be,  wlio  iiave  notl»- 
ing  to  do  with  it." 

"  But  pray  remember,  moncher  coinpte,"  cried  the 
governor,  "  that  you  promised  not  to  betray  me  to 
the  cardinal  in  any  case." 

De  Blenau's  lip  curled  with  contempt.  ''  I  think 
you  ought  to  know  before  tliis  time,"  answered  he, 
♦'  that  1  am  not  likely  to  betray  any  ono.  But  there 
seems  a  noise  and  bustle  in  the  court,  in  all  proba- 
bility caused  by  the  arrival  of  the  cardinal.  Go  and 
receive  him,  and  depend  upon  me."  Of  all  the 
misfortunes  on  the  earth,  thought  De  Blenau,  the 
curse  of  cowardice  is  the  most  dreadful. 

In  a  few  minutes  his  supposition  respecting  the 
arrival  of  the  cardinal  was  confirmed  by  a  summons 
to  appear  before  the  council,  in  the  hall  of  audi- 
ence; and  with  his  mind  still  undecided,  he  follow- 
ed the  officer  across  the  court  to  the  scene  of  his 
foraier  examination.  A  difference,  however,  struck 
him  in  the  present  arrangements  of  the  prison,  from 
those  which  he  had  before  remarked. 

The  court,  instead  of  being  crowded  by  those 
prisoners  who  had  the  liberty  of  walking  in  it,  was 
now  entirely  void;  and,  fixed  like  marble  on  each 
side  of  the  door  opening  into  the  audience-hall,  was 
a  soldier  of  the  cardinal's  guard,  between  whdra 
stood  a  clerk,  or  greffier,  of  the  council-chamber, 
seemingly  waiting  for  the  approach  of  the  prisoner. 
As  soon  as  De  Blenau  was  within  hearing,  the  doors 
were  thrown  open,  and  the  clerk  pronounced, 
"  Claude  Count  de  Blenau,  appear  before  the  king 
in  council." 

"  The  king  !"  thought  De  Blenau  :"  this  cardi- 
nal, not  content  with  taking  the  king's  guards,  must 
take  his  title  also  :"  but  passing  on  through  the 
open  doors  he  entered  the  hall,  where  a  very  differ- 
ent scene  presented  itself  from  that  which  had  be- 
fore met  his  eyes  in  the  same  place. 

The  whole  farther  part  of  the  chamber  was  filled 
with  the  officers  and  attendants  ot  Richelieu  :  each 
side,  aa  well  as  the  interstices   between   the  massy 


Riori.'XiEU.  65 

pillars  that  supported  the  roof,  was  occupied  by  a 
body  of  the  cardinal's  guard:  in  thi  chair  at  the 
heau  of  the  table  sat  the  king  himself,  with  the 
prime  minister  on  his  riuht  hand  :  Ctiavigni,  Boulh- 
ilJiers,  JNlazarin,  and  others  occupied  seats  on  either 
side  ;  and  to  complete  the  array  appeared  several 
clerks,  together  with  the  officers  of  tiie  prison, 
leaving  only  the  space  of  about  tiiree  feet  at  the 
bottom  of  the  table,  whicii  remained  clear  for  the 
prisoner  to  present  himself  opposite  the  tlirotie. 

Extraordinary  as  it  was  for  the  king  himself  to  sit 
upon  the  exaniination  of  a  state  prisoner,  the  wh«ie 
deni'^anor  and  conduct  of  the  monarch  had  under- 
gone a  change  since  the  return  of  Cinq  Mars, 
which  astonish'^d  those  about  liim  more  than  even 
bis  resolution  to  be  present  at  the  council  held  that 
morning  in  the  Bastille.  Even  those  who  were 
most  accustomed  to  watch  the  changes  of  the  king's 
variable  disposition,  would  hardly  have  recollected 
in  the  sovereign,  who,  with  the  easy  dignity  and 
self-possession  of  a  clear  and  intelligent  mind,  pre- 
sided at  the  head  of  tlie  council-table,  the  snine 
man  who  in  genera!  yielded  his  very  thoughts  to 
the  governnncc  of  Richelieu,  and  abandoned  all  his 
kingly  duties  to  one  whom  he  appeared  both  to 
dislike  and  dread.  But  so  it  was,  that,  slimnlaled 
by  some  unseen  means.  Louis  seemed  at  once  to 
have  resumed  the  king  ;  and  as  soon  as  Be  Blenau 
entered  the  audience-hnll.  he  at  once  opened  the 
business  of  the  day  himself,  wiih  all  those  powers 
which  his  mind  really  possesed  when  called  into 
activity. 

"  M«msieur  de  Blennu.  sa-d  the  king.  "  we  are 
glad  to  see  you.  We  have  heard  mu(  h  of  you,  !lnd 
that  always  a  gnod  report  from  those  that  we  love, 
and  therefore  our  confidence  in  your  honourand  in- 
tegrity is  grpat.  There  will  be  various  questions 
asked  of  you  to-day,  by  the  ntembers  of  the  co-  i;c:il 
present,  which  must  aflect  the  welfare  of  the  king- 
dom, and  our  own  personal  happiness  ;  and  to  these 
questions  we  command  you,  as  a  good  subject  and 


(j6  RICHELIEO. 

an  honest  min,  to  answer  truly,  and  according  to 
your  conscience,  without  any  reservation  whatso- 
ever." 

Before  enterino  the  audience-hall.  De  Blenau, 
well  knowi'ig  that  every  careless  word  inijht  be 
sul'ject  to  misconstruction,  had  determinnd  to  speak 
a.-!  little  a^  po<si'»le  :  a-'d  iliprfforP.  mr^relv  nn-^^cr- 
jng  the  king's  speech  by  a  profound  inclination  of  the 
head,  he  waited  in  silence  for  the  questions  to 
which  he  had  alluded. 

Richelieu,  the  keen  searching  glance  of  who«e 
eves  had  been  lixed  upon  him  during  the  whole 
tiine.  paused  f-r  a  in<  ment  in  espectaiion  of  a  re- 
ply ;  biU  seeing  that  he  said  nothin-.',  the  minister 
proceetled  himself  "  I  have  heard  with  astonish- 
ment. Monsieur  de  Blenau.''  said  he,  "  that  you  have 
lately  refused  to  answer  questions,  to  which  v(>u 
hn!  before  replied  in  conversation  with  me  ;  and  I 
can  conceive  no  reas<ni.  sir,  why  you  should  object 
to  give  satis'action  on  these  points  one  day  as  much 
jis  another.'' 

"Nor  can  I  conceive."  replied  De  Blenau.  '•  any 
reason  whv  your  eminence  should  cause  questions 
to  he  put  to  me  agam  which  I  had  before  answered; 
and  that  reiirration  even  while  the  replies  were  yet 
new  in  your  mind  " 

'•  My  memory  might  want  refreslii.?."  answered 
the  carilinal  ;  '•  and  son  must  als(»  reiiieinber.  that 
the  circumstances  were  very  diiferiMit  at  the  two 
peri<  d-;  in  wliicli  those que-ti<>ns  were  addres>^e  to 
-you.  In  the  first  place,  you  spoke  merely  in  con- 
versation ;  i"  the  second  ca=e,  you  were  a  prisoner, 
and  it  wa«  therefore  necessary  that  your  tlei'os  tion 
should  hetiken  from  your  own  mouth.  B  t  all 
.this  is  irrelevant  The  cnincil  is  not  inclinet  to 
take  no'ice  ofyour  loriner  coiitumacv.  provided  you 
iiow  reply  to  wh  it  shall  l>e  .Tsked  you.' 

De  Bifnin  was  again  silent,  mernlv  bowitie  to 
aignify  that  he  cotnprchended,  without  pledgiaj 
himself  either  to  an.sweror  not ;  and  Richelieu  pro- 
ceeded with  his  questions,   placiag  his  haud,  as  Jift 


RICHELlEff.  §7 

did  so,  upon  a  lar^e   packet  of  open  letters  which 
lay  on  the  table  before  him, 

"  You  have  already  informed  me.  Monsieur  de 
Blenau.  if  I  remember  rightly."  said  the  minister, 
"  that  you  have,  at  various  times,  forwarded  letters 
for  the  queen,  both  by  the  usual  public  conveyances 
and  otherwise  " 

The  king  fixed  his  eyes  intentlv  upon  the  count, 
while  he  r»  plied  at  once.  ''  I  have  done  so  !"' 

'Can  you  remember,''  continued  the  cardinal, 
"durinj  vvhat  period  you  have  been  accustomed  to 
send  these  letters  for  the  queen?  I  mean  of  what 
date  was  the  first  ?" 

"  I  cannot  precisely  at  this  moment  call  to  mind," 
answeri^d  De  Blenau,  '•  but  it  was  shortly  afier  your 
eminence  appointed  me.or  rather  recommemled  me, 
to  the  office  of  chamberlain  to  her  majesty." 

''You  see.  sire. 'said  Hicheiieu. turning  to  the kinty 
with  a  meaiiinfT  glance,  "'just  before  tlie  taking  of 
Arra-<  bv  the  Imperialists — " 

'Exactly  so.  your  eminence  ;  I  remember  it  by  a 
circnmsttince  that  occured  at  the  time."  in'erposed 
De  Blenau,  misdoubting  the  effect  of  the  cardinal's 
comments. 

Kiclielieu  gave  him  a  gracious  smile  for  t^^is  con- 
firmation of  his  remark.  "  Pray,  what  circiim'lanre 
was  that.  Monsieur  de  Blenau  ?''  demanded  he  ;  but 
his'Simile  was  soon  clouded  by  the  counts  reply. 

"  It  was.  tliat  the  lace  lappets,  in  order  to  pro- 
cure which  her  majesty  wrote  that  letter  to  Brus- 
sels, were  seized  at  Arras,  tl>at  citv  having  fallen 
into  the  enemy's  hands.  The  queen  was  much 
^rrieved  thereat".  You  knovv.  monseigneur,  ladies 
set  great  store  by  their  apoarel." 

Chavigni  smiled,  but  Richelieu's  brow  gathered 
into  n  deivv  frown,  and  his  reply  was  in  that  deep 
hollow  tot'.e  of  voice,  by  which  alone  one  could  dis- 
tinguish when  he  was  affected  bv  any  powerl'u!  feel- 
in«.  His  brow  at  all  times  remained  calm,  except 
when  he  sought  to  awe  or  intimidate  ;  his  eye,  too, 
•was  under xommand,  scanning  the  passions  of  oth- 


6S  niCilKLIEC. 

ers,  and  expressing  none  of  his  own,  but  those 
which  Ice  himself  wisjied  to  appear:  but  his  voice 
betrayed  him,  and  when  intenially  agitnted.it  would 
sink  to  so  low  and  cavernous  a  sound,  that  it  seem- 
ed as  if  the  dead  were  speaking.  It  was  in  this 
tone  that  he  answered  De  Blenau. 

"  The  contents  of  that  letter,  sir,  are  but  too  vvell 
known  by  their  effects.  But  I  am  to  conclude,  from 
your  observation,  that  you  are  as  well  aware  of 
what  the  queen's  letters  have  contained,  as  the  per- 
sons to  wnom  they  Avere  addressed." 

"  TSot  so.  your  eminence.'*  replied  De  Blenau. 
"The  import  of  that  letter  I  happened  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  by  accident,  but  I  pretend  to  no  far- 
ther knowledge.'' 

"  Yes,  yes.  sir,'' said  Richelieu,  •' it  is  very  evi- 
dent that  you  know  well  to  be  informed  or  not  oa 
any  subject,  as  it  suits  your  purpose." 

'•Niy,  Monsieur  le  Cardinal,"  interposed  the 
king,  '•  I  think  the  ycung  gf  ntleman  answers  with 
all  candour  and  disi^retion.  We  do  not  seek  to 
perplex  him,  but  to  hear  the  truth  ;  and  sure  1  am 
that  he  will  not  discredit  his  birth  or  honor  by  pre- 
varication.'' 

'•  Your  majesty's  own  honorable  mind  does  jus- 
tice to  mine,"  replied  the  count  ;  ''  I  will  own  that 
I  am  guarded  in  my  speech ;  for  surrounded  by  those 
who  seek  to  draw  miit'er  from  my  mouih.on  v^hich 
to  found  some  acquisition  against  mo.  I  were  a  fool 
to  speak  freely.  iSevertheless,  1  will  answer  truly 
to  whalsoevc-  I  do  answer:  and  if  there  should 
come  a  question  to  which  1  cannot  repiv  without 
betraymg  my  duty,  I  will  tell  no  falsehood,  but,  9s 
I  have  done  before,  refuse  to  answer,  and  the  con- 
sequences of  my  honesty  beupo    my  onn  head." 

"  Weil,  sir,"  said  ihe  cardinal,  *'  if  vou  have  done 
the  har.injue  with  wliii-I,  yuu  are  edifving  the  coun- 
cil, I  uili  proceed  wiili  ni*  que.-tions  ;  but  first  let 
me  tell  you.  that  1  am  not  d  sposed  to  be  dared  with 
impunity.  I  think  you  denied  to  me  that  you  had 
ever  forwarded  any  letters   to  Don  Francisco  de 


RlClliaiEB  69 

Mello,  Leopold  Archduke  of  Austria,  or  Philip 
King  of  Spain. — Beware  what  you  say,  Claude 
Count  de  Blenau  l" 

"  If  I  understand  your  eminence  rightly,'"'  said 
the  prisoner,  •'you  do  not  ask  me  whether  1  ever 
did  forward  such  letters,  but  whether  1  ever  denied 
to  you  tl'.at  1  did  forward  them  :  in  which  case,  I 
must  reply  that  1  did  deny  having  expedited  any 
letter  to  Don  Francisco  de  Mello,  but  the  two  oth- 
er names  1  never  touched  upon." 

"  'J'hen  you  acknowledge  that  you  have  conveyed 
letters  from  the  queen  to  the  archduke  and  the 
king  of  Spam  ?■'  demanded  Richelieu. 

"I  liave  made  no  such  acknowledgment."  an- 
swered De  Blenau  ;  ''your  eminence  puts  a  forced 
construction  on  my  v.ords.'* 

"In  vain  you  turn,  sir,  like  a  rebellious  serpent 
that  strives  in  its  wmdings  to  escape  the  hand  tiiat 
grasps  it.  At  once  I  ask  you,  have  you  or  have  you 
not,  ever  by  any  means,  expedited  any  letter  from 
the  q\ieen,  or  other  person,  to  either  the  archJulce 
of  Austria,  or  the  king  of  Spain?  This,  sir,  is  a 
question  that  you  cannot  get  over  I  " 

Tlie  eyes  of  the  wh'de  council  fixed  upon  the 
count  as  the  eardinil  spoke.  De  Blenau  p.iused  for 
a  momeiit  to  recollect  himself,  and  then  addressed 
himself  d-irectly  to  the  king.  '•  As  a  good  ar.d  faith- 
ful subject,  he  said,  "  there  is  a  great  duty  which  I 
owe  your  majesty,  and  I  believe  I  have  always  per- 
formed it  as  I  ought ;  but  as  a  servant  of  your  royal 
consort  the  qtieen,  I  have  otlier  duties,  distinct, 
though  1  hope  in  no  degree  opposed  to  those  which 
bmd  me  to  my  kin^-.  As  a  man  of  honour  also,  and 
agentleman.  1  am  bound  to  betray  no  trust  reposed 
ill  me,  whether  that  trust  seem  to  me  material  or 
not;  and  though  I  feel  sure  that  1  might  at  once 
answer  the  questions  proposed  to  me  by  his  emi- 
nence of  Richelieu  without  any  det-riment  or  dis- 
credit to  her  majesty,  yet  so  sacred  do  I  iiold  the 
contidcnce  of  another  that  I  must  decline  to  reply, 
whatever  be  the   consequence.    However,  lot  me 


70  RICHELIEO. 

assure  you,  sire,  ihat  no  word  or  deed  of  her  majes- 
ty the  queen,  which  has  ever  come  to  niy  ears,  has 
been  derogatnry  to  vfur  mnjesty's  dignity,  or  con- 
trnry  to  your  interest." 

'•'  'J'hen  I  am  lo  conclude  that  you  refuse  to  an- 
swer ?"  said  Richelieu,  sternly  :  -think.  AJonsieur 
de  Blenau,  before  you  carry  your  obstinacy  too 
far.'* 

"  My  conductdoes  not  arise  in  obstinacy,"  repli- 
ed De  Blenau,  •'  but  fr<im  a  s-ense  of  what  is  due  to 
my  honour;  and  unless  it  can  be  shown  nie  that  it 
is  lier  niajest\'s  desire  I  should  inform  your  emi- 
nence of  all  I  knovv  respecting  her  aftiiirs,  from 
henceforth  I  hold  my  tongue,  and  answer  no  farther 
questions  whatever," 

'■  Be  the  consequence  on  your  own  head  then, 
youn^  man,"  exclaimed  the  cardinal.  '•  We  will 
now  brea.<  up  the  conncil. — Monsieur  de  Blenau, 
t&ke  leave  of  the  sun.  for  yo*  never  see  another 
morrow  '.'■ 

De  Ble..an's  courage  was  unshaken,  but  vet  a 
cold  chilly  feeling  t:alliered  round  his  heart  as  Riche- 
lieu bade  him  take  leave  of  the  sun.  and  n-se  to 
brei.k  up  the  council.  But  still  the  king  kepi  hia 
sea',  and  Chavigni.  hastily  writing  a  lew  words  on 
a  scrap  of  pnper,  handed  li  to  the  cardinal,  who,  af- 
ter reading  it,  appeared  to  li.ink  for  a  m'  ment,  and 
then  again  addressed  De  Bleimu.  '-'Ihere  is  one 
hope  still  left  lor  you.  sir  ;  (iid  Monsieur  de  Cha- 
vijjni  understar.d  you  rightly,  that  if  )ou  had  the 
queens  command  toconless  what  y»'U  know  of  her 
affairs,  you  would  answer  the  questions  we  put  to 
you  ?■■' 

De  Blenau  breathed  freely.  "  I'ndoubfedly,"' 
replied  he  :  ''my  honour  will  then  be  saii»fied, 
and  there  will  be  no  subjvjct  on  which  I  shalj 
have  a  reserve." 

"  What  will  you  consider  a  ruffirient  expres- 
sion of  iier  m  ijestvs  commands  to  that  effect  ?" 
asked  Chavigni ;  *'  J  know  that  his  eminence  wis'*es 
to  treat  you  with  all  possible  lenity,  although  the 


KICllELlEU.  71 

mere  command  of  the  king  in  council  ought  to  be 
sufficient  warrant  for  \ou  to  yield  any  informa- 
tion thai  niny  be  required." 

•'  We  ll'ink  difierenlly  on  mnny  points,  JVlon- 
sieur  de  Cliavigni.''  answered  De  Blenau  ;  '-'but 
if  you  can  show  me  lier  l.aiidwriiing  to  any  or- 
der, or  if  one  of  ihc  (  fficers  of  Ik  r  h«)usel did 
will  bear  me  a  messnge  from  her  mnjesty  to  deliv- 
er what  little  I  know  ot  her  atiairs,  I  will  do  so 
without  furt'  er  hesitation." 

There  was  now  a  momentary  consultation  car- 
ried on  in  a  low  voce  aniong  tlie  various  mpm- 
bers  of  the  council,  apparently  concerning  which 
of  the  queen's  attend mt's  should  he  sent  for  ;  but 
at  length  Chnvi^rni  whispered  to  tl^e  cardinal, 
"send  for  Ln  Hivic  e  5  he  is  a  friend  of  Lafemas, 
and  will  do  any  thing  he  is  bid.' 

"  If  iMoi'.sieur  de  La  Ri  vitro  hear  you  the  qncen'6 
commands,  will  you  be  satisfied,  Sir  Count  V  de- 
manded Richelieu. 

" 'J"he  queen's  gentleman-nsher."  said  De  Blenau  j 
"  most  assuredly  ;  that  will  be  sufficient." 

'•  (io  yoursf  If,  Ctiavigi  i.'"  whispered  Richelieu, 
"and  as  you  come,  tell  Itim  what  to  .^ny. — we  will 
wait  his  arriv.il  :''  he  proceeded  aloud—''  but  see, 
Monsieur  de  Chiviutii.  that  he  ciimmunirates  with 
the  queen,  and  be  fully  informed  of  her  wis'es." 

De  Blenau  siiiiJGd.  convinced  fnun  his  late  in- 
formaiion  through  Pauline  that  the  queen  was  s. ill 
at  Chantiily,  and  tliorefoie  that  though  I.a  Riviere 
might  be  himself  at  Paris,  and  ready  to  swear  any 
thing  that  the  carditial  dictated,  he  could  have  no 
communication  with  Aiint^  of  Austria,  uidrss,  what 
seemed  improbal  le,  she  had  returned  to  the  capi- 
tal nith  the  l<ing.     , 

A:<  soon  as  De  ('havi-jrii  had  retired  for  the  pur- 
pose of  seeUititi  La  P.iviere,  Richeii'  u  ran  his  eye 
over  ?on»e  inem'Tanda,  as  if  about  to  ptil  luither 
quesiior.s  to  De  Bieiuiu  ;  but  the  kin^^,  not  tioticing 
these  inoications  of  his  purpose,  addressed  the 
prisoner  himself     "  Well, '.Monsieur  io   Compte," 


72  IflCHELTEC. 

said  he,  "while  Chavigni  is  gone,  there  are  two  or 
three  points  on  which  1  shall  be  glad  to  s-peak  vvi.h 
you." 

Kichelieu  was  surprised,  and  not  par'iculnrly  de- 
lighted, thinking  that  the  king  was  about  to  con- 
tinue the  examination  himself,  which  iniglit  not  be 
conducted  precisely  in  such  a  mai^ner  as  to  pro- 
duce the  ellect  he  wislied  5  but.  in  the  independent 
mood  with  which  Louis  was  affected,  hcdr:red  not, 
wiili  all  his  daring,  aticmpt  to  interrupt  ihe  course, 
of  his  sovereign's  proceedings,  and  therefore  re- 
main d  silent,  watching  the  opportunity  of  iuter- 
posing,  to  give  what  turn  he  best  could  to  tie  in- 
terrogatory th.it  nppeared  about  to  commence.  In 
the  meanwhile  Be  Blenau  bowed  his  head,  calmly 
prepared  to  be:irthe  mental  torture  of  a  longcross- 
exr.uiination.  wliere  every  word  might  bo  sulject  to 
dangerous  misconstruction. 

'•  1  understand,  Monsieur  De  Blenau,  continued 
the  king,  while  the  whole  council  listened  witli  at- 
tentive expectalion — "  I  understand  that  you  Isave 
the  best  breed  of  boar-dogs  in  France.  Pray  aro 
they  of  the  Pomeranian  or  the  Exul  race  ? — and 
how  can  they  be  procured  V 

Richelieu  bit  his  lip  ;  but  to  De  Blenau  the 
king's  question  was  like  the  clearing  away  of  a 
threatened  storm  ;  and  habitually  attached  to  the 
chafe,  as  well  as  deeply  learned  in  ail  its  mysteries, 
he  was  delighted  to  tind  that  Louis  turned  tlie  con- 
versation to  a  subject  equally  familiar  to  boti. 

"  riJine  are  tlic  iruo  Pomeranian  breed,  sire,"  he 
replied  ;'■  flewed  an  inch  deep,  with  eyes  like  Saa- 
darak^ — would  light  your  mnjesty  liome  at  night,  if 
by  chance  you  lost  your  way.  In  truth,  tliey  are 
only  fit  for  a  mnrarch  ;  and  Cinq  Mars  has  now 
four  cf  uple  rf  the  best  in  e.iucation  for  your  mnfes- 
ty,  which,  when  well  trained,  and  recovered  from 
their  wilderness,  he  will  present  to  your  majesty  in 
my  name;  and  1  humbly  hope  that  you  will  accept 
them  in  aid  of  your  royal  sport." 

"  We  shall,  wo  shall  ;  and    thank  vou    well,   Sir 


RICHELltl!.  ^3 

Count,"  replied  the  king,  smiling  most  graciously 
at  the  prospect  of  possessing  a  breed  vviiich  he 
had  heen  long  seeliing  lor  in  vain.  "  Monsieur  le 
Cardinal,  do  you  hear  lliat/  We  will  hunt  with 
them  some  day.  You  used  to  hunt  in  your  day 
too;  have  you  quite  given  it  over?" 

"  I  have  been  too  much  busied,  sire,"  answered 
Richelieu,  gravely,  '•  in  hunting  from  your  majes- 
ty s  dominions  Huguenot  wolves  and  Spanish  foxes, 
to  pursue  other  game."' 

Louis  turned  from  him  with  an  uneasy  shrug,  ex- 
prorsive  of  fully  as  much  distaste  lor  Richelieu's 
employments  as  the  statesman  experienced  for  his: 
and  on<e  more  addressing  De  Bienau,  he  plunged 
deep  into  the  science  of  hunting  hawking,  and 
fowling;  giving  tiie  young  count  a  thttusand  re- 
ceipts, instructions,  and  anecdotes,  which  he  lis- 
tened to  with  the  most  reverential  deference,  not 
only  in  as  much  as  they  proceeded  from  his  sover- 
eign, but  also  as  coming  from  tiie  most  experienc- 
ed sportsman  of  the  age. 

in  the  menu  wl:ilo,  Kichelicu  was  fain  to  employ 
hiniself  in  writing  notes  and  memoranda,  to  allay 
the  spleen  and  irritation  that  he  felt  at  what  he  in- 
ternally termed  the  king's  weak  trifling;  till  at 
lenifth  he  was  relieved  by  the  return  *S  Chavigni, 
briiiginij  with  him  the  queen's  usher.  La  Riviere. 

De  Bicnau  well  knew  tliat  this  person,  who  was 
by  birth  unjust  within  the  rank  of  a  gentleman 
(which  v.nrd  was  then  in  France  one  of  great  sig- 
nificance), had  been  placed  in  the  service  of  Ann 
of  Austria  for  the  purpose  of  actinj  as  a  spy  upon 
her.  from  Richelieu's  fear  of  her  correspondence 
with  Sj'ain;  but  informed,  as  the  count  now  was, 
of  the  queen's  wishes,  it  was  perfectly  indifferent 
to  him  who  appeared  on  her  behalf  ;  his  only  ob- 
ject beinir.  that  his  mistress's  commands,  puliiicly 
expressed,  should,  in  the  minds  of  all,  free  him 
from  the  imputation  of  having  betrayed  her. 

La    Riviere  looked   rouad  hina,  as  he  entered, 


74  RICHELIEU. 

with  a  glance  not  altogether  free  from  apprehen- 
sion j  tor  though  Chavigni  had  given  him  full  In- 
structions and  information  concerning  the  services 
he  was  sent  for  to  perform,  yet  there  was  some- 
thing so  terrible  in  the  idea  of  the  Bastille,  that  he 
could  hardly  keep  his  limbs  from  trembling  as  he 
passed  the  gates  of  the  prison. 

"  Come  hither,  Monsieur  de  La  Riviere/'  ex- 
claimed the  cardinal,  as  soon  as  he  appeared  ;  "we 
are  wasting  too  much  time  here."'  La  Riviere  ap- 
proached and  placed  himself  in  the  spot  to  which 
Richelieu  pointed,  almost  exactly  opposite  to  De 
Blenau. 

The  cardmal  then  proceeded.  "  Have  you  seen 
her  majesty  the  queen  since  Monsieur  de  Chavigni 
informed  you  of  the  wishes  of  the  council  ?" 

"I  have,  may  it  please  your  eminence/'  replied 
La  Riviere,  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

"  And  what  was  her  majesty's  reply  to  our  re- 
quest?" asked  Richelieu.  "  Speak  boldly  !"  he 
added,  in  a  tone  only  calculated  to  reach  the  ear  of 
the  usher,  who  stood  close  beside  him,  and  showed 
plainly,  by  his  hesitating  manner,  that  he  was  un- 
der the  influence  of  alarm.  The  cardinal,  however, 
attributed  this  to  a  wrong  cause,  thinking  that  La 
Riviere  had  not  really  seen  the  queen,  and  was 
about  to  play  his  part,  as  prompted  by  Chavigni, 
but  that  in  all  probability  he  would  spoil  it  by  his 
hesitation. 

Just  as  La  Riviere  was  proceeding  to  answer, 
however,  Chavigni.  who  had  taken  his  place  at 
the  council-table  the  moment  he  entered,  and  had 
been  writing  rapidly  since,  conveyed  a  slip  of  pa- 
per across  to  the  cardinal,  who  raieed  his  hand  for 
the  usher  to  be  silent  while  he  read.  The  words 
which  his  friend  had  written  greatly  discomposed 
the  minister's  plans.  They  were,  "'l  am  afraid  it 
will  not  succeed  :  1  have  seen  the  queen ;  when 
she  not  only  told  La  Riviere,  at  once,  to  command 
the  count,  in  her  name,  to  answer  every  question 
that  related  to  her.  but  has  given  him  a  letter  under 


MGHELIEtr  75 

her  own  hand  to  that  effect.  She  is  either  innocent, 
or  relies  devotedly  on  De  Blenau  :  whichever  is 
the  case,  her  open  conduct  will  clear  her  in  the 
mind  of  the  king.     Act  as  you  like.'" 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Monsieur  le  Car«iinal  1" 
demanded  Louis,  somewhat  impatiently,  "  Why 
do  we  not  proceed  ?  ' 

"  Because,"  answered  Richelieu,  '"'what  Mon- 
sieur de  Chavigni  says  is  right,  sire,  though,  1  con- 
fess, it  did  not  strike  me  before.  Shall  we  not  be- 
come contemptible  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  by 
submitting  to  be  dictated  to  by  Monsieur  de  Ble- 
nau ?  And  is  it  not  a  gross  insult  to  your  majesty's 
Eower,  to  obey  the  commands  of  the  queen,  when 
e  has  refused  to  obey  your  own  ?  J  am  sorry  that 
this  did  not  appear  to  me  earlier;  but  the  objection 
now  seems  to  me  so  forcible,  that  I  can  proceed 
no  farther  in  this  course." 

Louis  paused.  He  was  as  jealous  of  the  queen 
possessing  any  authority  as  Richelieu  could  wish  j 
but  in  the  present  instance  lie  was  urged,  by  ditter- 
ent  motives,  in  an  opposite  direction.  Some  sparks 
of  affection  had  arrived  in  his  bosom  towards  Anne 
of  Austria,  and  he  wished  much  to  satisfy  himself 
regarding  the  suspicions  which  had  been  urged 
against  her.  De  Blenau  was  the  dear  friend  of  his 
favourite  Cinq  Mars  ;  and  his  mind  also  had  begun 
to  yield  to  the  arguments  of  those  who  sought  the 
destruction  of  the  minister.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  habit  of  being  ruled  by  Richelieu,  and 
the  specious  arguments  he  produced,  made  Louis 
hesitate  : — "  what,  then, do  you  intend  to  do  ]"  de- 
manded he,  addressing  the  cardinal. 

"In  the  first  place,  sire,"  replied  Richelieu, 
sternly,  I  propose  to  interrogate  the  prisoner  once 
more,  and  if  his  contumacy  still  continues,  let  the 
question  be  his  doom." 

The  king's  naturally  good  feelings  snd  love  of 
justice  here  at  once  overcame  all  doubt.  "No, 
God  forbid  !"  cried  he,  rousing  himself  to  energy. 
"What,ar«  we  Christians.   Monsieur  le  Carding. 


and  shall  we  put  a  fellow-creature  to  the  torture, 

when  there  is  a  straight-forward   way  to  gain  the 
information  th-at  we  want  ?     Fie  upon  it  !     iSo  \" 

Richelieu's  ashy  cheek  grew  still  a  shade  paler.- 
It  was  the  first  lime  for  many  a  year  he  had  under- 
gone rebul<e.  H«  lelt  that  the  trammels  with  which 
he  ha^  so  long  held  the  king  enthralled  were  but 
as  green  lithes  twined  round  the  limbs  of  a  giant. 
He  saw  that  the  vast  fabric  of  his  power  was  raised 
upon  a  foundation  of  unsteady  sand,  and  that  even 
then  it  trembled  to  its  very  base. 

"Monsieur  La  Riviere,  answer  the  king  f  con- 
tinued Louis,  in  a  dignified  tone.  ''  What  says  the 
queen  to  the  request  of  our  council,  that  she  would 
command  her  chamberlain  to  answer  those  ques- 
tions, in  regard  to  which  he  has  a  scruple  on  her 
account  ?  ' 

*'  Her  majesty  says,  sire,  answered  La  Riviere, 
"  that  she  is  most  willing  to  do  any  thing-  that  will 
please  your  majesty  }  and  slie  has  net  only  ordered 
me  to  command,  in  her  name,  Monsieur  de  Ble- 
nau  to  inform  the  council  of  every  thing  he  knows 
concerning  her  conduct ;  but  has  also  written  this 
letter,  with  her  own  hand,  to  the  same  effect.'  And 
advancing  to  the  table,  he  bent  his  knee  before  the 
king,  and  presented  the  document  of  which  he  was 
the  bearer. 

Louis  took  the  letter,  and  read  it  through.  "  Thi» 
look«  not  like  a  guilty  conscience,"  said  he,  frown- 
ing upon  Richelieu'.  '•  Give  that  to  Monsieur  de 
Blenau,  he  continued,  to  one  of  the  officers. 
"There,  Sir  Count,  is  your  warrant  to  speak  free-^ 
ly  j  and  though  we  think  you  carry  your  sense  of* 
honor  too  far.  so  as  to  make  it  dangerous  to  your- 
self, and  almost  rebellious  towards  us,  we  cannot 
help  respecting  trie  principle,  even  though  it  be  in 
excess." 

"May  f  always  have  such  a  judge  as  your  majes- 
ty !"  replied  De  Blenau.  ''  Most  humbly  do  I  crave 
your  royal  pardon,  if  I  have  been  at  all  wanting  in 
duty  towards  you.  Believe  me,  sire,  it  has  proceed- 


RICHELIEU.  77 

ed  not  from  any  fault  of  inclination,  but  from  an  er- 
ror in  judgment.  I  have  now  no  farther  hesitation, 
all  my  duties  being  reconciled  ;  and.  1  believe,  the 
best  way  fully  to  reply  to  the  questions  which  have 
been  asked  me,  will  be  by  telling  your  majesty,  that 
1  have  on  several  occasions  forwarded  letters  from 
t!»e  queen,  by  private  couriers  of  my  own,  or  by 
any  other  conveyance  that  offered.  JNone  of  these 
letters  have  been  either  to  the  archduke,  to  Don 
Francisco  de  Mello,  or  any  other  persf  n  whatever, 
connected  with  the  Spanish  government,  except  her 
mnjesty's  brother,  Fhilip,  King  of  Spain,  to  whom  I 
have  assuredly  sent  several  ;  but  before  1  ever  un- 
dertook to  do  so,  her  majesty  condescended  to  g>ve 
me  her  most  po.sitive  promise,  and  to  pledge  her 
royal  word,  that  the  tidings  she  gave  her  brother 
should  on  all  occasions  be  confined  to  her  domes- 
tic affairs,  nor  ever  touch  upon  the  externsil  or  inter- 
nal policy  of  the  government,  so  that  my  honour  and 
allegiance  should  be  equally  unsullied.  These  let- 
ters have  sometimes  remained  upon  my  person  for 
weeks,  waiting  for  the  fit  opportunity  to  send  them  j 
which  circumstance  having  by  some  means  been 
discovered,  has  caused  me  no  small  inconvenience 
at  times.  Farther  1  have  nothing  to  tell  your  mnjes- 
ty,  but  that  i  have  ever  heard  the  queen  express 
the  greatest  affection  tor  your  royal  person,  and 
the  warmest  wishes  for  your  public  and  private 
welfare :  and  on  my  honor,  I  have  never  observed 
her  do,  by  word  or  action,  any  thing  which  could 
be  construed  into  a  breach  of  the  duty  she  owes 
your  majesty,  either  as  her  sovereign  or  her  hus- 
band. 

"  You  see  !"  exclaimed  the  king,  turning  to  Riche- 
lieu, as  De  Blenau  concluded  ;  "  You  see — exactly 
what  she  confessed  herself^— not  one  little  of  dif- 
ference." 

The  anger  of  the  cardinal,  at  finding  himself  foil- 
ed, swept  away  his  political  prudence  Irritated 
and  weakened  by  a  wearing  disease,  he  was  in  no 
firame  of  mind  to  see  calmly  a  scheme  he  had  form- 


7«  RICHELIEU. 

ed  with  infinite  cafe,  so  completely  overthrown; 
and  forgetting  that  the  king's  energies  were  now 
aroused  to  oppose  him.  he  resolved  to  let  his  ven- 
geance fall  on  the  head  of  De  Blenau  as  the  means 
of  his  disaopointment.  His  brow  darkened  aiwi  his 
eye  flashed,  and  he  replied  in  that  stern  and  haugh- 
ty manner  wliich  had  so  often  carried  command 
along  with  it. 

'•  if  your  majesty  be  satisfied,  of  course  so  am  I, 
whose  sole  wish  was  to  purge  the  lily  c-own  frona 
the  profaning  touch  of  strangers.  But  as  for  Mon- 
sieur de  Blenau,  he  has  confessed  himself  guilty  of 
a  crime  lit'je  short  of  high  treason,  in  fowarding 
those  letters  to  a  foreign  enemy.  We  have  already 
condemned  a  woman  to  exile  for  a  less  offence  j 
and  therefore  the  mildest  sentence  that  the  council 
can  pronounce,  and  which  by  my  voice  it  does  pro- 
nounce, is,  that  Claude  Count  de  Blenau  be  banish- 
ed for  ever  from  these  realms  ;  and  that,  if  after  the 
space  of  sixteen  days  he  be  found  within  their  pre- 
cincts, he  shall  be  considered  as  without  the  pale 
of  law, -and  his  blood  be  required  at  the  hand  of  no 
mn  that  sheds  it  I" 

There  was  an  indignant  spot  glowing  in  the  king's 
face  while  Richelieu  spoke  thus,  that  Chavigni 
marked  with  pain  ;  for  he  saw  that  the  precipitant 
haste  of  the  minister  was  hurrying  his  power  to  its 
fall. 

"Too  much  of  this!"  cried  Louis,  angrily.  "Lord- 
Cardinal,  you  forget  the  presence  of  the  king.  Mon- 
sieur de  Blenau—- We,  by  our  royal  prerogative,  da 
annul  and  make  void  the  sentence  you  have  just 
heard,  merely  commanding  you  to  retire  from  this 
chateau  of  The  Bastille,  without  holding  communi- 
cation with  any  persons  attached  te  the  court,  and 
to  render  vourself  within  the  limits  of  our  province 
of  Bourbon,  and  there  to  wait  our  further  pleasure. 
The  council  is  over,"  he  continued,  rising.  "  Mon- 
sieur le  Cardinal  de  Richelieu,  by  sending  the  war- 
rant for  the  count's  release  soxne  time  in  the  dajr  to 


RICHELIEU.  79 

our  governour  of  the  Bastille,  you  will   merit  our 
thanks." 

The  officers  cleared  the  way  for  the  king — the 
huissiers  of  the  chamber  threw  wide  the  doors — and 
Louis  with  a  firm  and  dignified  step,  proceeded 
slowly  out  of  the  hall,  followed  by  Richelieu,  who 
thunderstruck  and  confounded,  kept  his  eyes  bent 
upon  the  ground,  in  the  silence  of  deep  astonish- 
ment. The  rest  of  the  council,  equally  mute  and 
surprised,  accompanied  the  cardinal  with  anxiety  in 
every  eye  ;  while  the  officers  of  the  Bastille  and 
the  t^ountde  Blenau  remained  the  sole  occupants 
of  the  hall  of  audience. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

In  which  De  RIenau  gets  out  of  the  scrape 

The  silence  that  reigned  in  the  audience-hall  of 
the  Bastille  after  the  scene  we  have  described,  en- 
dured several  minutes,  during  which  each  person 
who  remained  within  its  walls,  commented  mutely 
on  the  extraordinary  events  he  had  just  witnessed. 
De  Blenau's  feelings  were  o**  course  mingled,  of 
surprise  at  the  king's  unusual  conduct,  and  gratifi- 
cation at  his  own  deliverance.  The  governor's 
thoughts  were  differently  employed,  looking  for- 
ward to  the  fall  of  Richelieu,  speculating  in  regard 
to  his  successor,  and  trying  to  determine  who  would 
be  the  best  person  to  court  in  the  changes  that  were 
likely  to  ensue.  "  Like  master,  like  man,"  says 
the  adage  ;  and  the  inferior  officers  of  the  prison,  in 
compliance  therewith,  calculated  upon  the  remov- 
al of  the  governor  as  a  consequence  of  the  ruin  of 


8ft  rtlCMKLlEU. 

the  minister  who  had  placed  bim  there,  and  laid 
their  own  minor  plans  for  tecurinir  their  places. 

De  Blenuu  was  the  first  to  break  silence.  ••  Well, 
my  friend,"  said  he,  addrfssin-j  llio  governor,  "•  I 
am  lo  be  your  guest  no  longer,  it  seems;  but  be 
assured  that  I  shall  not  forget  my  promises. '' 

'•  You  are  infinitely  good,  nio'iseigneur,"  answer- 
ed the  <  tlier,  bowing  almost  to  the  ground.  ''  I 
hope  you  will  believe  that  I  liave  gone  to  the  very 
extreme  of  what  my  duly  permitted,  to  aflord  you 
all  convenience." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"'  repiicd  the  count  ;  '•  but 
let  me  ask.  what  has  become  of  my  good  friend, 
Philip  the  woodman  ?    He  must  not  be  forgotten." 

The  knowledge  of  the  .severity  he  had  exercised 
towards  poor  Pldiip,  in  the  first  heat  of  his  anger, 
now  called  up  a  quick  llu-h  in  tlie  pale  cheek  of 
the  oovernor}  and  he  determined  to  shelter  him- 
self fr  -m  the  resentment  of  his  late  prisoner,  by 
telling  liim  that  the  woodman  had  been  liberat- 
ed. 

In  those  dangerous  times,  the  acutenoss  of  every 
one  was  sharpened  by  co  tinual  exercise  j  and  De 
Bleiiau's  eye,  fixing  on  the  varying  countenance  of 
his  companion,  soon  detected  tiiat  there  was  so  i.e- 
thing  amiss,  by  the  alteraii^n  which  his  question 
produced.  "  IVIonsieur  le  (ioverneur,"'  said  he, 
•'•give  me  the  truth.  I  proi!>ise  you  th:>t  every 
thing  shall  be  forgotten,  provided  )ou  }:ave  not  se- 
riously injured  him;  but  I  must  know  that  the  man 
is  safe  who  has  served  me  so  faithfully." 

•'The  fact  then  is  this,  monseigneur,"  replied 
the  governor  ;  ''  thinking  it  best  for  all  parties,  I 
ordered  this  monsieur  Philip  Grissoles  to  be  con- 
fined till  after  your  examination  to-day.  lest  any 
thing  might  transpire  that  could  injure  you  or  me." 

"You  thought  of  yourself  alone,  sir,"  answered 
De  Blenau.soniewhat  bitterly  ;  '■  but  see  that  he  be 
restored  to  that  degree  of  liberty  which  you  were 
ordered  at  first  to  permit,  or  you  wUl  hear  more  of 
m«— " 


ttlOHELIKO,  81 

As  he  epoke,  the  door  of  the  audience-hail,  com- 
municating with  the  outer  court,  was  thrown  open 
so  sudden^y  as  to  make  the  governor  start  a  pace 
back,  and  Chavigni  entered  the  room  with  a  coun- 
tenance, from  which  all  hisetibris  could  not  banish 
the  anxiety  of  his  mind.  Naturally  quick  and  impa- 
tient, it  oflen  happened  that  his  long  training  in 
the  school  of  political  duplicity  did  not  suffice  to 
overcome  the  struggles  of  his  original  disposition  j 
and  even  the  violent  effort  to  conquer  the  native 
earnestness  and  impatience  «>f  his  character  would 
sometimes  produce  more  visible  marks  'fits  work- 
ing than  if  he  had  suffered  his  passions  to  take 
their  course.  In  the  present  instance,  his  fine  fea- 
tures were  drawn  and  sharpened  by  the  attempt  to 
drive  from  them  any  *^xpression  of  his  feelings,  and 
his  eye  flashed  with  ill-subdued  fire,  as  he  irritated 
himself  with  a  thousand  conjectures  concerning 
the  latent  movers  of  the  recent  occurrences.  On 
entering,  he  pointed  with  his  hand  towards  the 
door  for  the  governor  to  leave  th»m  5  and  seeing 
that  he  did  not  immediately  obey,  he  exclaimed  in 
no  very  placable  voice,  ''  Begone  !  1  wish  Mon- 
sieur de  Blenau's  company  alone. — What  do  you 
wait  for  1  Oh,  there  is  the  order  for  hjs  liberation. 
— Ther.',  take  your  park  with  you."  And  he  point- 
ed to  the  lower  officers  of  the  prison,  who  thus  dis- 
missed quickly  followed  the  governor  as  he  shmnk 
away  from  tiie  statesman's  hasiy  and  irritable 
glance. 

"'  Monsieur  de  Blenau,''  «aid  Chavigni,  as  soon 
as  the  door  was  closed,  "  it  was  not  worth  while  to 
detain  you  here  for  an  hour  or  two,  till  such  lime 
as  the  order  could  be  sent  for  your  emancipation  j 
I  therefore  drew  it  out  in  the  lodge. — But  y<»u  owe 
me  no*hing  for  that}"  he  continued,  seeing  that  De 
Blenau  was  about  to  thank  him  for  the  supposed 
service.  "  I  made  it  an  excuse  to  stay  behind,  in 
order  to  seek  an  answer  to  a  question  or  two.  JNow. 
I  make  no  pretence  of  asking  you  these  questions 
a3  a  friend,  for  I  know  that  you  consider  me  not  9a 


S2  RICHELIEU. 

such  ;  but  I  do  it  merely  on  my  own  account,  wish- 
ing for  information  on  some  points  regarding  which 
you  alone  can  satisfy  me.  it  is  your  business, 
therefore,  to  consider  before  you  answer,  whether 
so  to  do  be  foryour  interest  or  not.  Tne  only  thing 
I  will  prorrise,  which  J  do  honestly,  is.  not  to  let 
your  replies  go  beyond  my  own  breast." 

"The  method  of  your  address  is  certainly  extra 
ordinary, Monsieur  de  Chavjgni,"  replied  De  Blenau: 
"but  however  we  may  differ  on  many  points,  1  give 
you  credit  for  so  much  fankness,  that  I  believe 
you  would  not  betray  even  your  eraeny  if  he  relied 
on  you  :  neither  do  l  know,  or  rather  recollect,  at 
this  moment,  any  quesstion  I  should  hesitate  to 
answer.  Therefore  propose  what  you  think  fit,  and 
I  will  satisfy  you,  or  not,  as  suits  my  convenience." 

"  Between  you  and  me,  Monsieur  de  Blenau, 
there  is  no  need  of  fine  w  rds.  I  have  always  found 
you  strickly  honourable,  and  therefore  I  rely  on 
what  vou  tell  me,  as  if  it  were  within  the  sc  pe  of 
my  own  knowledge.  In  the  first  place,  then,  you 
have  been  witness  to  an  extraordinary  scene  to-day. 
Are  you  at  all  aware  from  what  cause  the  king  has 
acted  as  he  has  done,  so  at  variance  with  his  con- 
duct for  fifteen  years  ?" 

'' Particularly,  I  am  aware  of  no  cause,  and  can 
only  conjecture  that  his  majesty  is  tired  of  being 
dictated  toby  his  servant?" 

"  Umph  !"  said  Chavigni,  in  a  tone  of  dissatisfac- 
tion ;  "  there  is  no  need  to  triumph,  Monsieur  de 
Blenau.  Am  I  to  believe  that  you  know  of  no  one 
who  has  instigated  the  king  to  take  such  singular 
steps  in  your  favour  V 

"Of  none  whatever,"  answered  the  count;  "unless 
it  were  her  majesty  the  queen, — the  effect  of  any 
application  from  whom  ^  would  be  quite  different,  I 
should  conceive." 

"  No,  no,  no  I"  said  Chavigni.  "  It  was  not  on 
her  that  my  suspicions  rested.  1  must  have  been 
mistaken.  One  word  more.  Have  you  had  any  late 
communication  with  Monsieur  de  Cinq  Mars  V 


RICHKLIEU.  83 

"  About  three  weeks  ago  I  wrote  to  him  from  St. 
Germain,  sending  some  young  hounds  for  the  king's 
service ;  but  that  was  long  before  I  dreamed  of 
finding  my  way  hither." 

'•  1  must  have  been  mistaken.''  repeated  Chavigni. 
"  I  thank  you,  Monsieur  de  Blenau.  This  must  be 
a  whim  of  the  kin '.'s  own — God  grant  it!  for  then 
the  humour  will  soon  pass." 

"  And  now  sir,"  said  De  Blenau,  "  that  I  have  an- 
swered your  questions,  there  are  one  or  two  subjects 
on  which  you  might  give  me  satisfaction.  Are  you 
inclined  to  do  so  ?" 

"  If  I  can  ,  without  injuring  myself  or  others,  or 
disclosing  any  plan  that  I  am  desirous  to  conceal," 
replied  the  statesman. 

"  My  questions  shall  regard  the  past,  and  not  the 
future,"  said  De  Blenau  ;  "and  are  intended  merely 
to  gratify  my  own  curiosity.  In  the  first  place  then, 
I  once  saw  you  at  St.  Germain,  in  conversation 
with  a  demoisell  attached  to  Mademoiselle  de  Beau- 
mont— to  what  did  your  buisness  with  her  refer  V 

"  I  did  not  think  you  had  seen  us,"  replied  Cha- 
vigni. "  I  might  answer  that  I  was  making  love, 
and  probably  you  thought  so  as  well  as  she  did  her- 
self; but  my  conversation  referred  to  you.  1  found 
that  she  had  been  present  when  Seguin  the  surgeon 
brought  the  news  of  your  having  been  wounded  to 
the  qu  :en  :  and  from  her  also  I  learned  the  words 
he  made  use  of  to  let  her  know  that  you  had  not 
lost  ihe  packet  which  you  had  upon  you  in  the 
wood  of  Mantes." 

"  Monsieur  de  Chavigni,"  said  De  Blenau,  with 
more  cordiality  in  his  manner  than  he  usually  evinc- 
ed towards  the  statesman  ;  "  the  world  is  too  well 
aware  of  your  domestic  happiness  for  ,  any  one  to 
suspect  you  of  degrading  yourself  to  a  soubrette  ;  I 
thank  you  for  your  candour.  Now  tell  me,  is  a  poor 
man,  called  Philip  the  woodman,  detained  hero 
in  my  account?    and  why  is  he  so?' 

"  He  is,"  replied  Chavigni,  "  and'  the  reason  is 
this — he  happened  to  recognise   among  those  who 


84  RICHELIEU. 

attacked  you  a  servant  of  mine,  and  was  fool  enough 
to  tell  it  abr.iad,  so  that  it  reached  the  king's  ears. 
Now,  though  every  thing  is  justifiable  in  the  service 
of  the  state,  1  did  not  particularly  wish  thatbuisness 
investigated,  and  I  therefore  put  Monsieur  Philip iu 
here  to  keep  him  cit  of  the  way  for  a  time.  Yi.u  ate 
now  of  course  aware  wliy  you  were  attacked  It  was 
to  secure  the  papers  on  your  person,  which  papers 
we  suppf)sed  were  part  of  a  trea.«'Onable  correspon- 
dence between  the  queen  and  the  Spanish  govern- 
ment. All  that  is  now  over  ;  and  therefore,  if  you 
will  promise  me  not  to  stir  th.e  buisness  of  that 
affray  in  any  way — which  indeed  would  do  you  no 
good — this  meddling  woodman  shall  have  his  liber- 
ty." 

"  I  never  had  the  slightest  intention  of  stirring 
it,"  replied  De  Blenau  ;  "  and  therefore  rest  satisfi- 
ed on  that  score.  But  at  the  same  time  I  must  tell 
you  that  the  whole  atlair  came  to  the  king's  ears 
through  me,  and  not  through  the  woodman,  1  be- 
lieve. I  observed  your  servant,  as  well  as  he  did, 
and  did  not  fail  to  write  of  it  to  several  of  my 
friends,  as  well  as  speak  of  it  openly  on  more  thaa 
one  occasion  ;  and  this,  depend  upon  it,  has  b«ea 
the  means  by  which  it  reached  the  ears  of  the  king, 
and  not  by  poor  Philip," 

"Then  1  have  done  him  wrong,"  said  Chavigni, 
"  and  must  make  him  some  amends.  Let  me  see. 
Oh,  he  shall  be  eub-lieutenant  of  the  forest ;  it  will 
just  suit  him.  And  now,  Monseigneur  de  Bienau, 
a.^  a  friend,  let  me  give  you  one  piece  of  advice. 
This  country  is  in  a  troubled  and  uncertain  state, 
and  there  will  be,  doubtless,  many  plots  and  cabals 
poing  on.  Retire,  as  you  are  commanded,  into 
Boiirbon ;  and  if  any  one  attempt  to  lead  you  into 
any  conspiracy,  so  far  fmm  acceding,  do  not  even 
listen  to  them;  for  the  Cardinal  owes  you  some- 
thing for  what  has  happened  to-day.  in  1  he  is  not 
one  to  forget  such  debts.  The  eye  of  an  angry  maa 
is  upon  you  ! — so  be  as  guarded  as  if  you  irod  amoog 


mCHELIElk  85 

tipers.  The  time  will  come  «  hen  you  will  say  that 
Chavigni  has  advised  you  well.'' 

"  And  it  is  certainly  advice  uliich  1  shall  follow, 
both  from  reason  and  inclination.  But  let  me  ask— 
am  I  to  consider  the  king's  prohibition  strict  in  re- 
gard to  communicating  with  any  one  at  the  court?" 

Chaviirni  thought  for  a  moment,  and  De  Bleuau 
imagined  that  he  was  considerinjr  the  circumstances 
under  which  Louis's  command  had  been  given  ; 
but  it  was  not  so.  The  mind  of  the  statesman  rap- 
idly reverted  to  Pauline  de  Beaumont,  all  his  pre- 
cautions with  regard  to  whom  turned  out  to  be  nu- 
gatory ;  and  he  now  calculated  the  consequences 
which  were  likely  to  ensue  under  the  present  state 
of  atiairs.  He  had  no  fear,  indeed,  in  regard  to  the 
responsibility  he  had  taken  upon  himself;  for  it 
would  be  easy  to  prove,  in  case  of  investigation, 
that  Pauline  had  attempted  in  disguise  to  commu- 
nicite  privately  with  a  stale  prisoner  in  the  Bastille, 
which  would  completely  justify  the  measures  he 
had  pursued  ;  but  he  wished  on  all  accounts  to  let 
a  matter  drop  and  be  forgotten  which  had  already 
produced  such  disagreeable  events,  and  he  there- 
fore determined  boldly  to  inform  Madame  de  Beau- 
mont of  what  had  been  done,  and  the  motives  for 
doing  it  ;  and  then — certain  that  for  her  own  sake 
she  would  keep  silence  on  the  subject — to  restore 
her  daughter  with  all  .speed. 

Though  the  thoughts  of  Chavigni  were  very  rap- 
id in  combination,  yet  all  these  considerations  oc- 
cupied him  so  long,  that  De  Blenau,  perceiving  his 
companion  pfunged  into  so  proiound  a  revery,  took 
the  liberty  of  pulling  him  out  by  the  ear,  re|)eating 
his  former  question,  whether  he  was  to  consider  the 
king's  prohibition  in  regard  to  communicating  with 
the  court  as  strictly  to  be  observed. 

"  Undoubtedly  !"  replied  Chaviuni :  "  beyond  all 
quesiion  !  You  do  not  want  to  gel  into  the  Bas- 
tille again,  do  you  ?  Oh  I  I  perceive  it  is  Madem- 
oiselle de  Beaumont  you  are  thinking  of.  But  you 
car  not  sec  her.     She  is  neither  in   Paris  nor  at  St 


S6  RICHELIEU 

Germain,  but  I  will  take  care  that  when  she  joins 
her  mother  in  Paris,  she  shall  be  informed  of  your 
safety  ;  and  you  can  write  yourself  when  you  get 
into  the  Bourbonnois.'' 

The  reader,  who  is  behind  the  scenes,  may  proba- 
bly take  the  trouble  of  pitying  De  Blenau  f»)r  the 
anxiety  he  would  suffer  on  hearing  that  Pauline  was 
neither  at  St.  Germain  nor  in  Paris  ;  but  there  i3 
no  occasion  to  distress  himself.  De  Blenau,  know- 
ing that  Pauline  had  absented  herself  from  the 
court  for  the  purpose  of  conveying  to  him  the  epis- 
tle of  the  queen,  naturally  concluded  that  Chavigni 
had  been  deceived  in  regard  to  her  absence,  and 
that  she  was  at  all  events  in  safety  wherever  she 
was. 

In  the  mean  time  Chavigni  proceeded.  "  You 
must  of  course  go  to  St.  Germain,  to  prepare  for 
your  journey  5  but  stay  ^ven  there  as  few  hours  as 
you  well  may.  Remember,  I  have  told  you,  the 
eye  of  an  angry  man  is  upon  you  I — To-day  is  yours 
— to-morrow  may  be  his — take  care  that  by  the 
least  imprudence  you  do  not  turn  your  sunshine  in- 
to storm.  That  you  may  make  all  speed,  I  will 
lend  you  ahorse  ;  for  I  own  I  take  some  interest  in 
your  fate — I  know  not  w;iy — it  shall  be  at  the  gates 
in  an  hour,  together  with  an  order  for  the  wood- 
mans  liberation  5  so  now,  farewell.  1  have  wasted 
too  much  time  on  you  already."' 

With  this  speech,  half  kind,  half  rude  Chavigni 
left  De  Blenau.  Whether  the  statesman's  motives 
were  wholly  friendly,  or  whether  they  might  not  be 
partly  interested,  proceeding  from  a  nice  calcula- 
ofthe  precarious  state  both  of  the  cardinal  s  health 
and  of  his  power,  weighed  with  the  authority  the 
queen  might  gain  from  the  failure  of  either,  the 
count  did  not  stay  to  investigate,  although  a  sus- 
picion of  the  latter  kind  flashed  across  his  mind. 
In  this,  however,  he  did  Chavigni  injustice.  In 
natural  character  he  was  not  unlike  De  Blenau  him- 
self, frank,  honourable,   and  generous ;  but  educa- 


niCHELIEU.  67 

tion  is  stronger  than   nature }  and.  education  had 
made  them  different  beings. 

On  the  departure  of  the  statesman,  the  count  re- 
turned once  more  to  the  apartment  he  had  occupi- 
ed while  a  prisoner,  with  no  small  seif-gratula- 
tion  on  the  change  in  his  situation.  Here  he  busi- 
ed himself  in  preparations  for  his  departure,  and 
took  pains  to  ascertain  that  the  paper  written  by  the 
unhappy  Caply  still  remained  in  the  book,  as  well 
as  that  the  file  was  yet  in  the  position  which  it  de- 
scribed. Having  finished  this  examination,  which' 
he  looked  upon  as  a  duty  to  the  next  person  destin- 
ed to  inhabit  that  abode,  he  waited  impatiently  till 
the  hour  should  be  passed  which  Chavigni  had 
named  as  the  time  likely  to  elapse  before  the  horse 
he  promised  would  be  prepared. 

Ere  it  had  flown  much  more  than  half,  however, 
the  governor  entered  the  chamber,  and  with  many 
profound  bows  and  civil  speeches,  informed  him 
that  Monsieur  de  Chavigni  had  sent  a  horse  for  his 
use,  and  an  order  for  the  immediate  liberation  of 
-  Philip  the  woodman.  De  Blenau  was  gratified  by 
Chavigni's  prompt  fulfillment  of  his  word  in  this 
last  respect  5  and  remembering  the  thousand  crowns 
which  he  had  promised  the  governor  on  his  libera- 
tion, he  placed  them  in  his  hands,  which  brought 
him  very  near  to  the  end  of  the  large  sum  of  gold 
that  his  valise  contained. 

Now  De  Blenau  was  perfectly  well  convinced 
that  the  governor  was  as  great  a  rogue  as  need  be  ; 
but  there  is  something  so  expansive  in  the  idea  of 
being  liberated  from  prison,  that  he  could  not  bear 
the  thought^of  keeping  his  louis  shut  up  in  a  bag 
any  longer,  and  he  poured  them  forth  into  the  gov- 
ernor's palm  with  as  much  satisfaction  as  if  he  was 
emancipating  so  many  prisoners  himself. 

An  ecu  courani  was  worth,  in  that  day,  about  three 

francs,  and  a  louis'  d' or  somewhat   about  four  and 

twenty  (more  or  less,  according  to  the  depreciation), 

so  that  eight  ecus  or  crowns,  went  to  the  louis  3  and, 

'  «onBcquently^   tho   &am   of  one   thousand    crown* 


ft  RlCHEtlEU. 

aiftounted  very  nearly  to  one  hundred  and  twenty* 
five  golden  louis,  which  was  a  very  pretty  reward 
for  a  riigue  to  receive  for  being  a  rascal  in  a  good 
cause  :  nevertheless,  the  governor,  even  when  he 
had  safely  clutched  the  proniised  fee.  looked  very 
wistfully  at  a  little  green  silk  bag,  which  De  Bienau 
reserved  in  his  lelt  hand,  and  which  he  calculated 
must  contain  about  the  same  sum,  or  more. 

The  count,  however,  held  it  br  ■■  J  and  having  giv- 
en directions  to  whom,  and  when,  his  baggage  was 
to  be  delivered,  he  descended  into  the  inner  court, 
and  cnst  his  eyes  round  in  search  (if  his  faithful 
friend  Philip.  But  the  woodman  had  received  at 
once  his  emancipation  from  the  dungeon  where  we 
)asf  lett  him,  and  the  news  that  De  Bienau  was  free  ; 
and  though  he  lingered  in  the  court  to  see  the 
young  count  depart,  with  somothinu  both  of  joy  and 
pride  m  his  feelings,  yet  there  was  a  sort  o|  limid 
delicacy  in  the  peasant's  mind,  which  made  him 
draw  back  from  observation,  amid  the  cr^wd  of 
p  isoners  that  the  court  now  contained,  the  mo- 
ment that  he  perceived  the  governor,  wilh  many  a 
servile  cringe,  marshalling  the  late  prisoner  towards 
the  gate  of  the  Basiille  ;  while  thote  less  fortunate 
persons,  still  destined  to  linger  nut  their  lime  wuh- 
in  lis  wails,  stood  off  with  curious  envying  l^oks, 
to  allow  a  passage  for  him  now  freed  from  their  sad 
fellowsl.ip.  De  Bienau.  however  was  by  no  means 
forgetful  of  the  woodman,  and  not  perceiving  him 
among  the  rest,  he  inquired  where  he  was  of  the 
obsequious  governor,  who  instantly  vociferated  his 
name  till  the  old  arclies  echoed  with  tj;e  sound. 
"  Philip  !  Philip  the  woodman  !  Philip  Grissoles  '" 
cried  the  governor. 

••  Does  he  know  that  he  is  free  altogether  to  re- 
turn home  ?■'  demanded  De  Bienau,  seeing  him  ap- 
proach, 

"jyo,  1  believe  not."  replied  the  governor.  "  I 
had  the  honor  of  waiting  first  upon  your  lord- 
ship." 

Philip  now  came    near,   and  De  Bt«nau   had   the 


RICHELIEU.  89 

gratification  of  announcing  to  him,  unforestalled, 
that  the  storm  had  blown  over,  and  that  he  might 
now  return  to  his  cottage  in  peace.  He  also  told 
him  of  the  appointment  with  which  Chavigni  pro- 
posed to  compensate  his  imprisonment — an  office 
so  elevated  that  the  gayest  day-dreams  of  Philip'* 
ambition  had  never  soared  to  half  its  height.  But 
the  joy  of  returning  to  the  bosom  ot  his  family,  to 
the  calm  shelter  of  his  native  forest,  and  the  even 
tencr  of  his  daily  toil,  swallowed  up  all  his  feelings, 
a  throne  would  not  have  made  him  happier;  and 
the  tears  of  delight  streaming  down  his  rough  cheek, 
brought  a  glistening  drop  too  info  De  Blenau's  eye. 
Woble  and  aristocratic  as  he  was,  De  Blenaufelt  that 
there  was  an  aristocracy  above  all — the  nobility  of 
virtue ;  and  he  did  not  disdain  to  grasp  the  broad 
hand  of  the  honest '^woodman.  "Fare  you  well, 
Philip  '  he  said  "  Fare  you  well,  till  wemeet  again. 
I  shall  not  easily  forget  you." 

The  woodman  felt  something  more  weighty  in 
his  plan  than  the  hand  of  De  Blenau,  and  looked  at 
the  heavy  green  purse  which  remained  in  it  with 
a  hesitating  ghnce.  But  the  count  raised  his 
finger  to  his  lip  with  a  smile.  "Not  a  word," 
said  he,  *'  not  a  word,  as  you  value  my  friend- 
ship." And  turning  round,  he  followed  the  gover- 
nor through  the  vorious  passages  to  the  outer 
court,  where  stood  Chavigni's  horse  caparisoned 
for  his  journey.  De  Blenau  sprang  into  the  saddle 
with  the  lightness  of  recovered  freedom.  The 
heavy  gale  was  thrown  open,  the  drawbridge  fell, 
and  striking  the  eides  of  his  horse  with  his  armed 
heel,  the  newly  emancipated  prisoner  bounded  over 
the  clattering  boards  of  the  pontleve,  and  with  a 
lightened  heart  took  the  road  to  St.  Germain. 

His  journey  was  soon  made,  and,  as  he  approach- 
ed the  place  of  his  destination,  all  the  well-known 
objects  round  about  seemed  as  if  there  shone  upon 
them  now  a  brighter  and  more  beautifying  sun  than 
when  he  last  beheld  them.     At  his  hotel   all    was 

VOL.  11.  7 


90  RICHELIEl.'. 

gladness  and  delight,  znd  crowding  round  their 
loved  lord,  with  smiles  of  v.elcome,  his  attendants 
could  scarcely  be  made  to  comprehend  that  he  was 
again  about  to  quit  St.  Germain.  De  Blenau's  com- 
mands, however,  immediately  to  prepare  for  a  long 
journey,  recalled  them  to  their  duty;  and  eager  to 
accompany  him  wherever  he  went,  their  arrange- 
ments were  soon  completed,  and  the  major-domo 
announced  that  all  was  jeady. 

JS^ot  so  the  count  hiiuseif,"  who,  notwithstanding 
the  king's  command,  could  not  resolve  to  quit  St. 
Germain's  without  visiting  the  palace.  Sending 
forward,  therefore,  his  train  to  the  entrance  of  the 
forest,  he  proceeded  on  foot  to  the  gate  of  the  park, 
and  crossing  the  terrace,  ertered  t!ie  ct;fiteau  by 
the  small  door  in  the  western  quadrangle. 

Perhaps  De  Blenau  was  not  without  a  hope  that 
Pauline  might  have  returned  thither  from  Paris  ; 
and  at  first,  meeling  none  of  tiie  royai  servants,  he 
walked  from  empty  chamber  to  chamber,  with  a 
degree  of  undefined  expectation  that  in  each  he 
should  find  the  object  cf  his  wishes:  but  of  course 
his  search  was  in  vain,  and  descending  to  the  low- 
er part  of  the  building,  he  proceeded  to  the  por- 
ters  chamber,  who,  ha\irig  received  no  news  to 
the  contrary,  informed  him  that  the  wliole  court  was 
still  at  Chantilly. 

I  know  not  why  it  is,  but  somehow  the  heart,  by 
long  association  with  pr.rtcular  rejects,  fi^rms  as 
it  v.ere  a  friendship  even  v.ith  liiiogs  inanimate, 
when  they  have  been  the  silent  witnesses  of  our 
hopes  or  our  happiness  ;  they  form  a  link  between 
us  and  past  enjoyment,  a  sort  of  landmark  for  mem- 
ory to  guide  us  back  to  happy  rec<  llections  ;  and  to 
quit  them,  like  every  other  soit  of  p.nrting.  has  no 
small  decree  of  pain.  V/e  r.re  apt,  too,  to  calculate 
all  that  may  happen  before  v>e  see  them  again,  and 
the  knowledge  of  the  innumerable  multitude  of 
humr.n  miseries,  jrom  among  which  fortune  may 
choose,  gives  generally  to  such  anticipations  a 
gloomy  hue.     L-  oking  back  upon  the  towers  of  Sit. 


mCHELIEU.  51 

Germain,  De  Blenau  felt  as  if  he  were  parting  from 
Pauline,  and  parting  from  her  for  a  long  and  indefi- 
nite time  ;  and  his  heart  sickened  in  spile  of  all  the 
gay  dreams  to  which  his  liberation  had  at  first  giv- 
en birth. 

Who  is  there  that  even  when  futurity  is  decked 
in  the  brightest  colors  which  probably  can  lend  to 
hope — when  youth,  and  health,  and  ardent  imagina- 
tion combine  to  guaranty  all  the  promises  of  life — 
who  is  there,  that  even  then  does  not  feel  the  pain- 
ful influence  of  parting  from  any  thing  that  is  lov- 
ed ?  Who  is  there  in  the  world,  the  sum.mer  of 
whose  bosom  is  so  eternal,  that  at  such  moments^ 
dark  imaginings  will  not  cloud  the  warmest  sun- 
shine of  their  heart,  and  cast  a  gloomy  uncertain 
shadow  on  the  most  glowing  scenes  expectation  can 
display  ?  Just  so  De  Blenau.  Fancy  presented  to 
his  mind  a  thousand  forebodings  of  evil,  as  with 
Baany  a  lingering  look  he  turned  again  and  again  to- 
wards the  palace  j  and  even  when  at  lengtli  he  was 
joined  by  his  train,  who  waited  at  the  entrance  of 
the  forest,  he  was  Gtill  absorbed  in  gloomy  medita- 
tions. However,  he  felt  it  was  in  vain,  and  spring- 
ing on  his  horse,  he  turned  his  face  resolutely  on 
his  onward  way. 

Skirting  along  the  v/ood,  he  soon  reached  Ver- 
sailles, and  thence  proceeding  with  little  intermis- 
sion, he  arrived  in  time  to  pass  The  night  at  Etam- 
pes,  from  which  place  he  set  out  early  the  next 
morning  for  Orleans.  Continuing  to  trace  along  the 
course  of  the  Loire  with  quick  stages,  he  soon  ar- 
rived at  Nevers,  where  he  crossed  the  river,  and 
shortly  afcer  entered  the  Bourbonnois. 


92  RICHELIEU. 

CHAPTER  VII!. 


Which  shows  the  truth  of  the  French  adage,  »  L  habit  ne  fai 
pas  le  moine." 


I  KNOW  I  am  very  ■oTong,  very  partial,  and  very 
inconsiderate,  to  give  two  consecutive  chapters  t(> 
the  Count  de  Blenau,  when  I  liave  more  people  to 
despatch  than  had  Captain  Bobadil  in  the  play,  and 
less  time  to  do  it  in.  But  I  could  not  help  it  j 
those  two  last  chaptes  would  go  together,  and  they 
were  too  long  to  be  clapped  up  into  cue  pat,  as  I 
have  seen  Sarah  the  dairymaid  do  wiili  the  stray 
lumps  of  butter  that  float  about  in  ihe  bultermilky 
after  the  rest  of  the  churn's  produce  has  been  othr 
erwise  disposed  of.  So  i  am  very  sorry,  and  so- 
forth.  And  now,  if  you  please,  my  dear  reafler,  we 
will  go  on  to  some  one  else.  What  would  you 
think  of  the  Norrnan  ?  Very  well !  For  my  part  I 
look  upon  him  as  the  true  hero  of  the  story  ;  for, 
according  to  the  best  accounts,  he  ate  more,  drank 
more,  lied  more,  and  foucrht  more  tljon  any  one 
else,  and  was  a  great  rogue  into  the  bargain  ;  all 
Avhich,  in  the  opinion  of  Homer,  is  requisite  to  the 
character  of  a  hero.     See  the  Odyssey  passim. 

At  Troyes.  the  Norman's  perquisitions  were  very 
successful.  JVo  Bow-street  officer  could  have  de- 
tected all  the  proceedings  of  Fontrailles  with  more 
acutenes.?.  Step  by  step  he  traced  him,  from  his 
first  arrival  at  Troyes  till  the  day  he  set  out  for 
Mesnil"  St.  Loup ;  and  learning  the  road  he  had  ta-, 
ken,  he  determined  upon  following  the  same  tracks' 
fcr  he  shrewdly  concluded,  that  Avhatever  business 
of  import  the  conspirator  had  been  engaged  in,  had 
been  transacted  in  the  two  days  and  one  night, 
•which,  according  to  the  story  of  the  gorcon  d  au- 


RlCHELlEVy.  93 

berge  at  the  Hotel  du  Grand   Soleil^  he    had  been 
absent  from  the  good  city  of  Troyes. 

IS^ow,  our  friend  Monsieur  Marteville  had  learned 
unother  piece  of  news,  which  made  him  the  more 
willing  to  bend  his  steps  in  the  direction  pointed 
out  as  that  which  Fontrailles  had  taken.  Tliis  was 
no  other  than  that  a  corsiderable  band  of  robbers 
had  lately  come  down  into  that  part  of  the  country 
to  collect  their  rents  ;  and  that  their  principal  haunt 
was  supposed  to  be  the  thick  woods  which  lay  on 
the  borders  of  the  high  road  to  Troyes,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Mesnil. 

True  it  is,  the  Norraan  had  abandoned  his  free 
companions  of  the  forest,  and  received  the  wages 
of  Monsieur  de  Chavigni ;  but  still  he  keprup  a 
sort  of  desultory  correspondence  with  his  former 
associates,  and  had  not  lost  sight  of  them  till  cer- 
tain reports  got  about,  that  the  lieutenant  criminel 
was  going  to  visit  the  forest  of  Laye,  which  induc- 
ed them  to  leave  the  vicinity  of  St,  Germain,  for 
fear  that  there  should  not  be  room  enough  in  the 
forest^or  them  and  the  lieutenant  too.  It  was 
nalurOT  enough  that  Marteville  should  wish  to  make 
a  morning  call  upon  his  old  friends  :  besides — I'll 
tell  you  a  story.  There  was  once  upon  a  time  a 
man  who  had  a  cat,  of  which  he  was  &o  fond,  that, 
understanding  one  Mr.  Pigmalion  had  got  an  ivory 
statue  changed  into  a  wife  by  just  asking  it,  he  re- 
solved to  see  what  he  could  do  for  his  cat  in  the 
same  way.  But  I  dare  say  you  know  the  story  just 
as  well  as  I  do— how  the  cat  was  changed  into  a 
woman,  and  how  she  jumped  out  of  bed  after  a 
mouse,  and  so  forth  ;  showing  plainly,  that  "  what 
is  bred  in  the  bone  will  never  go  out' of  the  flesh  j" 
that"  nature  is  better  than  a  schoolmaster  ;"  and 
that  "you  can  never  make  a  silk  purse  out  of  a 
sow's  ear  ;"  as  Sancho  would  say.  But,  however, 
the  Norman  had  a  strange  hankering  after  his  good 
old  trade,  and  was  very  well  inclined  to  pass  a  day 
or  two  in  the  free  forest,  and  do  Chavigni's  work 
into  the  bargain.    There  was  a  little  emharras  in- 


94  iUCHELlEli 

deed  in  the  case,  respecting  Louise,  for  whoia,  in 
these  first  days  of  possession,  he  did  feel  a  certaitt 
degree  of  attachment ,  R.nd  did  not  choose  to  leave 
her  behind,  though  he  did  not  like  to  take  her  with 
bira,  considering  the  society  he  was  going  to  meet, 
"  Pshaw  I"  said  he  at  length,  speaking  to  himself, 
'*  I'll  leave  her  at  Mesnil.'" 

This  resolution  he  began  to  piK  in  execution,  bj 
placing  Louise  upon  one  horse  and  himself  upon  the 
other,  together  with  their  several  valises  ;  and  thus, 
in  the  same  state  and  order  in  which  they  had  ar- 
rived at  Troyes,  so  they  quitted  it  for  Mesnil  St, 
Loup.  All  the  information  that  Marleville  possess- 
ed to  guide  him  in  his  farther  inquiries,  amounted 
to  no  more  than  this  (whieh  he  learned  from  the 
foresaid  gargond'auberge)  ;  namely,  that  the  little 
gentleman  in  gray  had  taken  the  road  apparently 
to  Mesnil ;  that  he  had  been  absent,  as  before  said, 
two  days  and  one  night;  and  that  his  horse,  when 
it  came  home,  appeared  to  have  been  furnished 
with  a  new  shoe  en  route.  This,  however,  was. 
quite  sufficient  as  a  clew,  and  the  ?vorman  did  not 
fail  to  tarn  it  to  its  full  account. 

Passing  through  the  little  villages  of  Mehun  and 
Langley,  the  ^Norman  e%'ed  every  blacksmith's  forge- 
as  he  went;  but  the  one  v.as  nest  to  the  post-house, 
and  the  other  was  opposite  to  the  inn  j  and  the 
Norman  went  on,  saying  within  himself,  "  A  man- 
who  was  seeking  concealment,  would  rather  pro- 
ceed with  his  beast  unshod  than  stop  there. y  So, 
resuming  his  conversation  with  Louise,  they  jogged 
on,  babbling,  not  of  green  fields,  but  of  love  and 
war  ;  both  of  which  subjects  were  much  within  the 
knowledge  of  the  Sieur  Marteville,  his  battles  be- 
ing somewhat  more  numerous  than  his  wives,  and 
having  had  plenty  of  both  in  his  day. 

At  all  events,  Louise  was  very  well  satisfied  with 
the  husband  that  Heaven  had  sent  her,  and  looked 
upon  him  as  a  very  fine  gentleman,  and  a  great 
warrior;  and  though,  now  and  then,  she  would 
play  the  coquette  a  little;  and  put  forth  all  the  little 


RICHEttK«.  95 

ndnaiidcne  which  a  Languedoc  soubrelte  could  as- 
sume, in  order  to  prevent  the  Norman  from  having 
too  great  a  superiority,  yet  Monsieur  Marteville 
was  better  satisfied  with  her  than  witli  any  of  his 
former  wives  3  and  as  she  rode  beside  him,  he  ad- 
mired her  horsemanship,  and  looked  at  her  from  top 
to  toe  iu  much  the  same  manner  that  he  would 
have  examined  the  points  of  a  fine  ISorman  char- 
ger. JNo  matter  how  Louise  was  mounted  :  suffice 
it  to  say,  that  it  was  not  on  a  side-saddle,  such 
things  being  but  little  known  at  the  time  1  speak 
of. 

While  they  were  thus  shortening  the  road  with 
sweet  discourse,  at  the  door  of  a  little  hovel  by  the 
side  of  the  highway,  half-hidden  from  sight  by  a 
clumsy  mud  wall  against  which  he  leaned,  half  ex- 
posed by  the  lolloping  position  he  assufiied. appear- 
ed the  large,  dirty,  unmeaning  face  and  begrimmed 
person  of  a  Champenois  blacksmith,  with  one  hand 
grubbing  among  the  roots  of  his  grizzled  hair,  and 
the  other  hanging  listlessly  by  his  side,  loaded  with 
the  ponderous  hammer  appropriated  to  his  trade. 
•'  C est  id,''  thought  the  JN'orman  ;  Qxiatre  vingt  dix 
neuf  moiitcnis  et  tm  Champenois  font  cent — ninety- 
nine  sheep  and  a  Champenois  make  a  hundred  ;  so 
we'll  see  what  my  fool  will  tell  roe.  Holla!  Mon- 
sieur .'■' 

'•  Plait-ilV  cried  the  Champenois,  advancing 
from  }(is  hut. 

'•'  Pray  has  Monsieur  Pont  Orson  passed  here  to- 
day V  demanded  the  Norman. 

"  Monsieur  Pont  Orson  1  Monsieur  Pont  Orson  !" 
cried  the  Champenois.  trying  to  assume  an  air  of 
thought,  and  rummaging  in  his  empty  head  for  a 
name  that  never  was  in  it  .  "  Pardie,  I  do  not 
know." 

"I  mean,"  said  the  Norman, '' the  same  little 
gentleman  in  gray,  who  stopped  here  ten  days  a- 
gone,  to  have  a  bay  horse  shod,  as  he  was  coming 
back  from — what's  the  name  of  the  place  ?" 


96  RICHELIKU, 

"  No  '■"  cried  the  Champenois  ;  "  Jie  was  going,  he 
was  not  coining,  when  he  had  his  horse  shod." 

"But  I  6ay  he  was  coming,"  replied  the  JSorman. 
"  How  the  devil  do  you  know  he  was  going  V 

'^  3Jais  Dame ."'  exclaimed  the  other  :  "  How  do  I 
know  he  was  going  ?  ^Vhy,  did  not  he  ask  me  how 
far  it  was  to  Mesnil  ?  and  if  he  had  not  been  going, 
why  should  he  wish  to  know  V 

"  It  was  not  he,  then/'  said  the  jNorman. 

"  Mais  dame  !  ouai!"  cried  the  Champenois. 
"  He  was  dressed  all  in  gray,  and  had  a  bay  horse, 
on  whose  hoof  1  put  as  nice  a  piece  of  iron  as  ever 
came  off  an  anvil ;  and  he  asked  me  how  far  it  was 
to  Mesnil,  and  whereabouts  was  the  old  Castle  of 
St.  Loup.  Monsieur  Pont  Orson  ?  Monsieur  Pont 
Orson  7  Dieu  qui  aurait  devini  que  c'etoit  Monsieur 
P(mt  Orson  ?" 

"  Mais  je  vous  dis  que  ce  n'etoit  pas  ltd."  cried  the 
Norman, putting  spurs  to  his  horse.  "  Allons,  cherie. 
Adieu,  Monsieur  Champenois,  adieu !  Ha !  ha  1  ha  !" 
cried  he,  when  at  a  little  distance.  "  Gancahe  !  he 
has  told  me  all  that  I  wanted  to  know.  Then  he 
did  go  to  Mesnil — the  old  Chateau  of  St.  Loup  ! 
What  could  he  want  there  ?  I've  heard  of  this  old 
chateau." 

"  But  who  is  Monsieur  Pont  Orson  ?"  demanded 
Louise,  interrupting  the  broken  cogitations  of  hef 
husband. 

"  Nay,  I  know  not,  ma  ch^e,"  replied  her  hus- 
band. "  The  man  in  the  moon,  with  a  corkscrew 
to  tap  yon  fool's  brains,  and  draw  out  all  I  wanted 
to  know  about  the  person  whom  I  told  [you  1  was 
seeking  for  Monsieur  de  Chavigni.  It  was  a  mere 
name.  But  there,  1  see  a  steeple  on  yon  hill  in  the 
wood.  Courage  !  we  shall  soon  reach  it.  It  is  not 
above  a  league.    That  must  be  Mesnil." 

The  Norman's  league,  however,  proved  at  least 
two,  and  Louise,  though  a  good  horsewoman,  was 
complaining  most  bitterly  of  fatigue,  when  they  ar- 
rived in  the  little  street  of  Mesnil  St.  Loup,  and, 
nding  up  to  the  dwelling  of  our  old  friend  Gaultier 


RICHELIEU.  9-) 

the  innkeeper,  alighted  under  the  vvithered  garland 
that  hung  over  the  door. 

"Holla!  Auher^isU!  Garcon!"  cried  the  Nor- 
man, "holla!" 

But  no  one  came  ;  and  on  repeating  the  summons, 
the  sweet  voice  of  the  dame  of  the  house  was  all 
that  could  be  heard,  screaming  forth  a  variety  of 
tender  epithets,  applicable  to  the  garQon  d/ecurie, 
and  intended  to  stimulate  him  to  come  forth  and 
take  charge  of  the  strangers'  horses.  "  Don't  you 
know,  Lambin,"  cried  she,  "  that  that  hog  your 
master  is  lying  up  stairs  dying  for  no  one  knows 
what  ?  And  am  I  to  go  out.  Maraud,  and  take 
people's  horses  with  my  hands  all  over  grease, 
while  you  stand  1 — s — ng  yourself  there  ?  Cochon! 
if  you  do  not  go,  I'll  throw  this  pot-lid  at  you." 
And  immediately  a  tremendous  rattle  on  the  boards 
at  the  farther  side  of  the  stable,  announced  that 
she  had  been  as  good  as  her  word. 

This  seemed  the  only  effectual  method  of  arous- 
ing the  occult  sensibilities  of  the  garpoti  d'^ciirie, 
who  listened  unconcerned  to  her  gentler  solicita- 
tions, but,  yielding  to  the  more  potent  applica- 
tion of  the  pot-lid,  came  forth  and  took  the  bridle 
of  the  horses,  while  our  Norman  lifted  his  lady  to 
the  ground. 

The  sight  of  such  goodly  limbs  as  those  possess- 
ed by  Monsieur  Marteville,  but  more  especially  the 
blue  velvet  pourpoint  to  which  we  have  formerly 
alluded,  and  which  he  wore  on  the  present  occa- 
sion, did  not  fail  to  produce  the  most  favourable 
impression  on  the  mind  of  the  landlady  5  and,  bust- 
ling about  with  the  activity  ot  a  grasshopper,  she 
prepared  to  serve  the  athletic  cavalier  and  his  pret- 
ty lady  to  the  best  cheer  of  the  auberge. 

*'  Would  madame  choose  some  stewed  escargots 
potirse  restaur eri  Would  monsieur  take  tm  conp 
de  vin  before  dinner  to  wash  the  dust  out  of  his 
mouth  ?  Would  madame  set  up-stairs  to  repose 
herself?  Would  monsieur  take  a  gouter?"  These 
and  a  thousand   other  civil  proffers   the   hostess 


ShS  EICHELIKU. 

showered  upon  the  iVorman  and  Louise,  some  of 
which  were  accepted,  some  declined  5  but  the 
principal  thing  on  which  theK^orman  seemed  to  set 
his  heart  was  the,  speedy  preparation  of  dinner, 
which  he  ordered  with  the  true  galloping  profusion 
of  a  beggar  on  horseback,  demanding  the  best  of 
everything.  While  this  was  in  progress,  he  forgot 
not  the  principal  object  of  his  journey,  but  began 
with  some  circumlocui-on  to  draw  the  hostess  to-  , 
wards  the  subject  of  Fontrailles'  visit  to  Mesnil. 

At  the  very  mention,  however,  of  a  little  man  in 
gray,  the  good  landlady  burstforth  ins'Jch  a  torrent 
of  invective  that  she  went  well  nigh  to  exhaust  her 
copious  vocabulary  of  epithets  and  expletives; 
while  the  jNorman,  taken  by  surprise,  stood  gazing 
and  shrugging  his  shoulders,  wondering  at  her  fa- 
cility of  utterance,  and  the  vast  rnpidity  with  which 
she  concatenated  her  iiard  names.  The  little  man 
in  gray,  who  had  been  there  precisely  ten  days  be- 
fore, was,  according  to  ter  opinion,  a  liar,  and  a 
rogue,  and  a  cheat;  a  conjuror,  a  Huguenot,  and 
a  vagabond  ;  a  man  without  honour,  principle,  or 
faith  ;  a  maraud,  a  rnaiin,  a  miserable  ;  together  w  ilh 
a  great  many  other  titles  the  enumeration  of  which 
Bhe  summed  up  with  "  et  sil  n' est  pas  le  Diable.Vem- 
porte !" 

'•'  C'est  vrai,"  cried  the  iSorman  every  time  she 
paused  to  take  breath  :  C'est  vrai.  But  how  came 
you  to  find  out  he  was  so  wicked  !"' 

The  lady's  reply  was  not  of  the  most  direct  kind  ; 
but  fro'.ii  it  the  Norman  gathered,  with  his  usual 
acuteness,  that  after  our  friend  Gaultier  had  point- 
ed out  to  Fontrailes  the  road  to  the  old  Castle  of 
St.  Loup,  he  returned  home,  his  mind  oppressed 
with  the  consciousness  of  being  the  confidant  of 
a  sorcerer.  He  laboured  under  the  load  of  thisr 
terrific  secret  for  some  days  ;  and  then,  his  consti- 
tution not  being  able  to  support  his  mental  strug- 
gles, he  sickened  and  took  to  his  bed,  where  he 
still  lay  in  a  deplorable  state,  talking  in  his  sleep 
of  the  conjurer  in  gray,  and  of  Pere  Le  Rouge,  and 


RICHELIKa  9^ 

the  devil  himself,  and  sundry  other  respectable 
people  of  the  same  class.  But  when  awake,  it  must 
be  remarked,  the  aubergiste  never  opened  his  lips 
upon  the  subject,  notwithstanding  all  the  solicita- 
tions which  his  better  half,  being  tempted  by  the 
curiosity  of  her  sex,  did  not  fail  to  make.  From 
all  this  the  good  dame  concluded  that  the  little 
man  in  gray  had  bewitched  her  husband  and  driven 
him  mad,  causing  him  to  lie  up  there  upon  his  bed 
like  a  hog,  neglecting  his  business  and  leaving  her 
worse  than  av.idow. 

All  this  was  corn,  %vine,  and  oil,  to  the  mind  of 
the  Norman,  who,  wisely  reserving  his  opinion  on 
the  subject,  retired  to  consult  with  Louise,  having  a 
great  esteem  for  woman's  wit  in  such  cases.  After 
some  discussion,  a  plan  was  manufactured  between 
them,  which,  though  somewhat  bold  in  conception, 
was  happily  brought  to  issue  in  the  following  man- 
ner. 

During  the  dinner,  at  which  the  bourgeoise  wait- 
ed herself,  she  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  hear 
Louise  more  than  once  call  Marteville  by  the  rev- 
erend appellation  oi  mon  pae  ;  and  if  this  astonish- 
ed, how  much  was  her  wonder  increased  when  af- 
terward, during  a  concerted  absence  of  the  JNor- 
man,  the  fair  lady  informed  her,  under  a  promise  of 
profound  secrecy,  that  the  goodly  cavalier,  whose 
blue  velvet  doublet  she  had  so  much  admired,  was 
neither  mare  nor  less  than  the  celebrated  P^re 
Alexis,  directenr  of  the  Jesuits  of  Alen9on,  who  was 
travellmg  in  disguise  in  order  to  place  her  (one  of 
his  penitents)  in  a  monastery  at  Rome. 

True,  Louise  either  forgot  or  did  not  know  that 
they  were  not  precisely  in  the  most  direct  road  to 
Rome,  but  she  was  very  safe  in  the  person  she 
spoke  to,  who  had  even  less  knowledge  of  where 
Rome  stood  than  herself.  Now  the  story  of  Louise 
was  a  very  probable  one  in  every  other  respect, 
considering  the  manners  of  the  day ;  for  Ics  bons 
ptres  Jesiiites\exy  often  travelled  about  in  disguise 
for  purposes  best  known  to  themselves,  and  very- 


leO  RICHELIEU. 

few  of  the  boiis  peres,  whether  Jesuits  or  not,  were 
averse  to  a  fair  penitent.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the 
simple  bourgcoise  never  doubted  it  for  a  moment; 
and  casting  herself  at  the  feet  of  Louise,  she  en- 
treated her,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  intercede  with 
the  reverend  directeur  to  confess  and  absolve  her 
sinful  husband,  who  lay  up-stairs  like  a  hog,  doing 
nothing. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  Korman  re-entered  the 
room  3  and  though  his  precise  object,  in  the  little 
drama  they  had  got  up,  was  neither  more  nor  less 
than  to  confess  the  unhappy  aiibcrgiste,  yet,  as  a 
matter  of  form,  he  made  some  difficulty  to  med- 
dling with  the  penitent  of  another  ;  but  after  faintly 
advising  that  the  cure  of  the  village  should  be  sent 
for,  he  agreed,  as  the  case  was  urgent,  to  under- 
take the  office  of  confessor  himself,  though  he 
mildly  reproached  Louise,  in  presence  of  the  host- 
ess, for  having  betrayed  his  real  character,  and  bade 
her  be  more  careful  in  future. 

As  soon  as  he  had  signified  his  consent,  the  botir- 
geoise  ran  to  tell  her  husband  that  the  very  rever- 
end Fere  Alexis,  directeur  of  the  Jesuits  of  Alen9on, 
had  kindly  consented  to  hear  his  confession  and  ab- 
solve him  of  his  sins  ;  and  in  the  meanwhile  the 
INorman  gave  directions  to  Louise,  whose  adroit- 
ness had  often  served  him  in  discovering  the  se- 
crets of  the  palace,  while  she  had  remained  with 
Madame  de  Beaumont,  to  gain,  in  the  present  in- 
Btance,  all  the  information  she  could  from  the  wife, 
while  he  went  to  interrogate  the  husband. 

This  being  settled,  as  a  blue  velvet  pourpoint  was 
not  exactly  the  garb  to  play  a  confessor  in,  Louise 
ran  in  all  haste  to  strip  the  astrologer's  robe  we 
have  already  mentioned  of  all  its  profane  symbols, 
and  the  iVorman,  casting  its  shadowy  folds  over  his 
lusty  limbs,  and  drawing  the  hood  over  his  head, 
appeared  to  the  e^e  as  goodly  a  friar  as  ever  crack- 
ed a  bottle.  No  great  regard  to  costume  was  ne- 
cessary, for  the  landlady  took  it  all  for  granted  ; 
and  when  she  beheld  the  Norman  issue  forth  from 


RICHELIEU  101 

the  room  in  which  the  valise  had  been  placed,  cloth- 
ed in' his  long  dark  robes,  she  cast  herself  at  his 
feet  in  a  transport  of  reverence  and  piety. 

Monsieur  Marteville,  otherwise  the  Fere  Alexis, 
did  not  fail  to  give  her  his  blessing  with  great  gravi- 
ty, and  witn  a  solemn  demeanor  and  slow  step  fol- 
lowed to  the  chamber  of  the  sick  man. 

Poor  Gaultier  was  no  longer  the  gay  rosy-cheek- 
ed inkeeper  which  he  had  appeared  to  Fonlrailles, 
but  stretched  upon  his  bed,  he  lay  pale  and  wan, 
muttering  over  to  himself  shreds  and  tatters  of 
prayers,  and  thinking  of  the  little  man  in  gray,  Pere 
Le  Rouge,  and  the  devil.  As  soon  as  he  beheld  the 
pretended  Pere  Alexis  into  his  chamber,  he  essay- 
ed to  rise  in  his  bed  5  but  the  Norman  motioned  him 
to  be  still,  and  sitting  down  by  him,  exhorted  him 
to  make  a  full  confession  of  his  sins,  and  then,  to 
give  greater  authenticity  to  his  character,  he  knelt 
down  and  composed  an  extempore  prayer,  in  lan- 
guage equally  of  his  own  mauufacture,  but  which 
the  poor  aubergiste  believed  devoutly  to  be  Latin, 
hearing  every  now  and  then  the  words  sanctissimus, 
in  secula  seadorum,  and  bcnedidus,  with  which  the 
Norman  did  not  fail  to  season  it  rchly.  being  the 
only  stray  Latin  he  was  possessed  of. 

"  Humgumnibus  quintessentialiter  expositu  dum 
dum;  benedictus  sint  foolatii  et  sanctissin-'is  four- 
bi.  Hi  sty  Aubergisti  rorum  corum  no  bib  excipe 
capones  poulardici  generi,  fur  grataveruni  pectus, 
legbonibus  in  secula  seculorum  sanctissimus,  bene- 
dictus," said  the  Norman. 

"Amen!"  cried  the  innkeeper  from  the  bottom 
of  his  heart,  with  such  fervency  that  the  Pere  Alexis 
.could  scarcely  maintain  his  gravity. 

The  Norman  now  proceeded  to  business,  and  put- 
ting down  his  ear  to  a  level  with  the  lips  cf  Gaul- 
tier, he  once  more  desired  him  to  make  a  clear 
breast. 

"  Oh,  mon  Pere,''  cried  Gaultier,  "  Je  avis  im 
pauvre  v&cheur,  un  mis>rahlc  /'■' 


102  RICHKLIKO 

The  good  father  exhorted  him  to  take  courage, 
and  to  come  to  a  detail  of  hia  crimes. 

^'  Oh,  mon  Fere,  cried  he.  "  I  have  sold  cats  for 
rabbits,  and  more  especially  for  hares.  I  have 
moistened  an  old  hareskin  with  warm  water  and 
bloodied  it  with  chicken's  blood,  to  make  my  cats 
and  my  badgers  and  my  weasels  pass  for  what  they 
really  were  not.  1  have  cooked  up  snakes  tor  eels, 
and  dressed  vipers  en  matdot.  1  have  sold  bad  wine 
ofBoismarly  for  good  wine  of  Epernay  5  and,  Oh, 
mon  Fere,  je  suis  tin  pauvre  pedietir.-' 

"Well,  well,  get  on,"  cried  the  Tsorman  some- 
what impatiently,  "  I'll  give  you  absolution  for  all 
that.  All  inkeepers  do  the  same.  But  what  more 
have  you  done  V 

•■•  Oh,  mon  Perer  je  suis  vu  pauvre  pecheur,  pro- 
ceeded Gaultier  in  a  low  voice  5  ''I  haveVcharged 
my  customers  twice  as  much  as  I  aught  to"  charge. 
I  have  vowed  that  fish  was  dear  when  it  was  cheap  j 
and  I  have — '' 

•'  Xom  de  Dieu  .'"  cried  the  Xorman,  getting  out 
of  temper  with  the  recapitulation  of  Gaultier's  pec- 
cadilloes. "  JXom  de  Dicu  !  that  is  to  say,  in  the 
name  of  God,  I  absolve  you  from  all  such  sins  as 
are  common  to  innkeepers  masters  of  taverns, 
cooks,  anbergutes  and  the  like — sins  of  profession 
as  they  may  be  called — only  appointing  you  to 
kneel  before  the  altar  of  your  pnrish  church  for 
two  complete  hours,  repeating  the  Pater  and  the 
Ave  during  the  whole  time,  by  way  of  penance," 
thought  he,  •'  for  making  me  hear  all  this  nonsense. 
— But,  come,'"  he  continued,  "bring  up  the  heavy 
artillery — that  is,  let  me  hear  your  more  uncom- 
mon sins.  You  !iave  some  worse  things  upon 
your  conscience  than  any  you  iiave  told,  or  I  am 
mistaken." 

''Oh,  mon  Fere!  Ok, mon  bcra  Pere !"  groaned 
Gaultier,  "  -'e  suis  vn  pauvre  pecheur,  un  misera- 
ble." 

•'  Tsow  it  comes,"  thought  the  Tsorman  ;  '•'  AUons 


RICHELIEU.  103 

allons,  monfils,  ayez  courage  .'  I'eglue  est  pleine  de 
mktricorde." 

''Tliere  was  an  old  owl  in  il.e  barn,"  said  Gaul- 
tier,  ''  find  woodcocUs  being  scarce — " 

"  V^enlre  St.  Grii!  this  will  never  como  to  an 
end;"  cried  Marteville  to  himself,  'Mais  mon 
fils,"  he  said  aloud,  '•  I  have  told  you,  all  that  is  par- 
doned. Speak,  can  you  charge  yourself  with  mur- 
der, treason,  conspiracy,  sorcery,"' — Gaultier  groan- 
ed— '-astrology,'" — Gaultier  groaned  still  more  deep- 
ly— "  or  of  havin;?  concealed  any  such  crimes, 
when  ccmnntted  by  others  ?"  Gaultier  groaned  a 
lliird  time.  The  JNJorman  had  now  brought  him  to 
the  point;  and  after  much  moaning,  hesitation,  and 
agony  of  mind,  he  acknowledged  that  he  had  been 
privy  to  a  raeeUng  of  sorcerers,  Kay,  thnt  he  had 
even  conducted  a  notorious  astrologer,  a  little  man 
in  gray,  on  the  road  to  meet  the  defunct  Pere  Le 
Rouge'  r;rid  his  companion  the  devil,  at  the  old 
Chateau  of  St.  Loup 5  and  that  it  wns  his  remorse 
of  conscience  for  this  crime,  to^rether  with  his  ter- 
ror at  revealing  it,  after  the  menaces  of  the  sorcer- 
er, that  hod  throv.n  him  into  the  lamentable  state 
in  which  he  then  lay. 

By  degrees,  the  Norman  drew  from  him  every 
particular,  and  treasuring  them  up  in  his  memory, 
he  hastened  to  give  the  suffering  innkeeper  absolu- 
tion ;  which  though  not  performed  in  the  most  or- 
thodox mar.ner;  quite  satishcd  Gauliicr;  who  con- 
cluded, that  any  liltie  difference  of  form  from  tiiat 
to  which  he  had  been  used,  proceeded  from  the 
..Norman  being  a  Jesuit  and  a  directeur ;  and  he  af- 
terward was  heard  to  declare,  that  the  Pere  Alexis 
was  the  most  pious  and  saintly  of  men.  and  that  one 
absolution  from  him  was  worth  a  hundred  from  any 
one  else  ;  although  the  cure  of  the  village,  when  he 
Heard  the  molhod  in  which  it  had  been  administer- 
ed, pronounced  it  to  be  heterodox  and  heretical, 
and  in  short  a  damnable  error. 

And  here  be  it  remarked,  that  a  neighboring  curd 
havmg  taken   up  the   quarrel  of  Pi^re  Alexis,  and 


104  RICHELIEU. 

pronounced  his  form  to  be  the  right  one,  a  violent 
controversy  ensued,  which  raged  in  Champagne  for 
more  than  fifty  years,  producing  nine  hundred  pam- 
phlets, three  thousand  letters,  twenty  public  dis- 
cussions, and  four  papal  bulls,  till  at  length  it  was 
agreed  on  all  hands  to  write  to  the  Jesuits  of  Alen- 
con,  and  demand  their  authority  for  such  a  devia- 
tion from  established  rules  ;  when  it  was  discover- 
ed that  they  administered  absolution  like  every  one 
else  ;  and  that  they  never  had  such  a  person  as 
Pere  Alexis  belonging  to  their  very  respectable  and 
learned  bod/. 

But  to  return  to  the  JXorman.  As  soon  as  he 
concluded  all  the  ceremonies  he  thought  right  to 
perform,  for  the  further  consolation  of  Gaultier,  he 
said  to  him, "'  Fear  not,  my  son,  the  menaces  of  the 
sorcerer;  for  I  forbid  all  evil  beings,  even  were  it 
the  devil  himself,  to  lay  so  much  as  the  tip  of  a 
finger  upon  you  5  and  moreover,  1  will  go  this  very 
night  to  the  old  chateau  of  St.  Loup,  and  will  exor- 
cise Pere  Le  Rouge  and  drive  his  spirit  forth  from 
the  place,  and,  morbleau!  if  he  dare  appear  to  me  I 
will  take  him  by  the  beard,  and  lead  him  into  the 
middle  of  the  village,  and  all  the  little  children 
shall  drum  him  out  of  the  regiment — I  mean  out  of 
the  town." 

With  this  bold  resolution,  Monsieur  Marteville 
descended  to  the  ground  floor,  and  communicated 
his  design  to  Louise  and  the  bourgeoise,  who  were 
sitting  with  their  noses  together  over  a  flagon  of 
vin  chaud.  "  Domnez  moi  un  coup  de  vin  said  he, 
"  etfirai." 

But  Louise,  who  did  not  choose  to  trust  her  new 
husband  out  of  her  sight,  having  discovered  by  a 
kind  of  instinct,  that  in  his  case  "'absence  was 
worse  tiian  death,"  declared  she  would  go  witJi  him, 
and  see  him  take  Pere  Le  Rouge  by  the  beard.  The 
Norman  remonstrated,  but  Louise  persisted  with  a 
sort  of  sweet  pertinacity  which  was  quite  irresisti- 
ble, and,  though  somewhat  out  of  humor  with  her 
obstinacv.  he  was  obligod  to  consent. 


RlCHtLlE«.  1^ 

However,  he  growled  amUbly,  while  »he  assisted 
to  disembarrass  him  of  his  long  black  r  be  ;  and 
probably,  had  it  not  been  for  his  assumed  cliaracter, 
would  have  acco;npnniel  iiis  opposition  with  more 
than  one  of  those  elegant  expletives  with  which 
he  was  wont  to  season  his  discourse.  Louise,  not- 
withstanding all  this,  still  maintained  her  point,  and 
the  horses  be/ng  brought  forth,  the  bags  were  plac- 
ed on  their  backs,  and  the  Norman  and  his  spouse 
set  forth  for  tlip  old  chateau  of  St.  Loup,  taking 
caro  to  repeat  their  ii  junction  to  the  landlady  not 
to  discover  their  real  characters  to  any  one.  as  the 
business  of  ihe-pere  directeur  required  the  utmost 
secrecy. 

The  landlady  p-ronvised  devoutly  to  comply,  and 
having  seen  her  guests  depart,  entered  the' public 
foom,  whe4e  several  of  the  peasantry  had  by  this 
linif!  assembled,  and  told  every  one  in  a  whispet" 
that  iiie  tall  gentleman  they  had  seen  get  on  horse- 
back was  the  Pere  Alexis,  directeur  of  the  Jesuits 
of  Alencjon,  and  that  the  lady  was  Mademoiselle 
Louise  de  Cracltm.acknole,  sa  penitente.  Immedi- 
ately, they  all  ran  in  different  directions,  some  tft 
the  door,  some  to  the  window,  to  see  so  wonderful 
a  pair  as  the  Ptre  Alexis  and  his  penitente.  The 
bustle,  Mashing,  aT:d  chattering  which  succeeded, 
and  which  the  landlady  could  no  way  abate,  called 
the  attention  of  the  Sieur  Marteville,  who,  not  par- 
ticularly in  a  good  humor  at  being  contradicted  by 
i.ouise.  was  so  much  excited  into  anger  by  the  gap- 
ing of  trie  multitude,  that  he  had  well  nigh  drawil 
the  portentous  Toleda,  which  hung  by  his  side.  a.nd 
returned  to  satisfy  their  curiosity  by  presenting  his 
person  rather  nearer  than  they  might  have  deemed 
agreeable.  He  bridled  in  his  wrath,  however,  6i" 
rather,  to  change  the  figure,  kept  it  in  store  fot 
some  future  occasion  J  and  consoling  himself  with 
a  few  internal  curses,  in  which  Louise  had  her 
Share,  he  rode  on  and  soon  arrived  at  that  part  df 
the  wood  which  we  have  already  said  was  named 
the  Sorcerer's  Grove. 

TOI..   II.  & 


1-06  RlCRELIfQ. 

Of  the  unheard-of  adventures  wliich  there  befel 
him,  the  giants  that  he  slew,  and  the  monsters  Iha-t 
he  overcame,  we  shall  treat  in  a  future  chapter, — 
turning  our  attention  at  present  to  other  important 
•tibjects  which  call  loudly  for  detaiU 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Being  a  chapter  of  explanations,    which  the  reader  haf  no  oe- 
casioa  to  perase  if  he  uuderstands    the   story  without  it  • 

"Great  news'.  Cinq  Mars.'"'  exclaimed  Fon- 
trailles.  "  Great  news  !  the  cardinal  is  sick  to  the 
death,  and  goes  without  loss  of  time  to  Tarascon  : 
he  trembles  upon  the  brink  of  the  grave." 

Cinq  Mars  was  stretched  upon  three  chairs,  the 
farthest  of  which  he  kept  balanced  on  its  edge  by 
the  weight  of  his  feet,  idly  rocking  it  backwards  and 
forwards,  while  his  mind  was  deeply  buried  in  one 
of  the  weak  romances  of  the  day,  the  reading  wliich 
was  a  favorite  amusement  with  tlie  master  of  the 
horse,  at  those  periods  when  the  energies  of  his 
mind  seemed  to  sleep.  ''  Too  good  news  to  be 
true,  Fontrailles,*' he  replied,  hardly  looking  up; 
"take  my  word  for  it,  the  devil  never  dies." 

"  That  may  be,"  answered  Fontrailles,  '•  but  nev- 
ertheless, the  cardinal,  as  I  said,  :s  dying,  and  goes 
instantly  to  Tarascon  to  try  another  climate.'" 

"  Why,  where  hast  thou  heard  all  this  ?  and  wheu 
didst  thou  come  from  Spain?'"  demanded  Cinq 
Mars,  rousing  himself.  Thou  hast  made  good 
speed." 

"  Had  I  not  good  reason  ?"  asked  the  other. 
"  But  they  tell  me  that  I  must  question  you  for 
news  J  for  that  it  is  something  in  regard  to  your 
friend,  the  young  Count  de  Blenau,  which  has  deep- 
ly struck  the  cardinal" 


RICHELIEU.  107 

Well  then/ 1  will  give  the  story,  in  true  heroic 
-style/''  answered  Cinq  Mars,  tossing  the. book  from 
him.  "  Thou  dost  remember,  O  my  friend!"  he 
'continued,  imitalirg  the  language  of  the  romance 
he  had  just  been  reading,  "  how  stormy  was  the 
night,  when  last  I  parted  from  thee,  at  the  old  Cha- 
teau of  Mesnil  St.  Loup  3  and  ifthe  thunder-cloudg 
passed  away,  and  left,  the  sky  clear  and  moonlight- 
ed, it  was  but  to  be  succeeded  by  a  still  .more  vio- 
lent tempest.  For,  long  after  thou  wert  snugly 
housed  at  Troyes,  De  Thou  and  myself  were  gal- 
loping on  through  the  storm  of  the  night.  The  rain 
fell,  the  lightning  glanced,  the  thunder  rolled  over 
head,  and  tl;e  way  seemed  doubly  long,  and  the  for- 
»est  doubly  dreary,  when  by  a  sudden  blaze  of  the 
red  fire  of  heaven,  I  descried  some  one,  mounted 
on  a  white  horse,  come  rapidly  towards  us." 

'•'  Come,  come.  Cinq  Mars  !"  exclaimed  Fontrail- 
'les,  "  for  grace,  leave  tiie  land  of  romance — remem- 
ber T  have  a  long  story  to  tell,  and  not  much  time 
to  tell  it  in.  Truce  with  imagination  therefore,  for 
•we  have  more  serious  work  before  us." 

"  It's  truth — it's  truth,  thou  unbelieving  .Jew," 
•cried  Cinq  Mars.  ''No  romance,  I  can  assure  you. 
Well,  soon  as  this  white  horseman  saw  two  others 
wending  their  vvay  towards  him,  he  suddenly  rein- 
-ed  in  his  beast,  and  turning  round,  galloped  oft'  as 
-hard  as  he  could  go.  Now,  if  curiosity  be  a  failing. 
it  is  one  I  possess  in  an  eminent  degree  5  so,  clap- 
>ping  spurs  to  my  horse,  after  him  I  v.cnt,  full  faster 
■than  lie  ran  away.  As  for  De  Thou,  he  calls  out 
after  me,  loud  enough  to  drown  the  thunder,  cry- 
iny,  '■  Cinq  Mars,  where  are  you  going  ? — In  God's 
name  stop — We  know  the.place  is  full  of  banditti — 
If  these  are  robbers,  they  may  murder  you,'  and  so 
>on  5  but  hnding  that  1  did  not  much  heed,  he  also 
^was  smitten  with  a  galloping  fit,  and  so  we  rollovved 
*each  other,  like  a  procession,  though  with  no  pro- 
'Cession  pace  5  the  white  horseman  first — I  next — 
and  De  Thou  last — with  about  a  hundred  yards  be- 
ctween  each  of  us — going  at  full  speed,  to  the  great 


lOS  RICHELIEtr. 

peril  of  our  necks,  and  no  small  danger  of  out  heads, 
from  the  boughs.  I  was  best  mounted  however,  on 
■my  stout  black  horse  Sloeberry — j'ou  know  Sloe- 
berry  ; — and  so  distancing  De  Thou  all  to  nothing,  f 
began  to  come  closer  to  my  white  horseman,  who, 
finding  thai  he  could  not  get  off,  gradually  pulled 
in,  and  let  me  come  up  ^^ith  him.  '  Well,  sir/"  said' 
he  directly,  with  all  possible  coolness —  you  have 
ridden  hard  to-night.'  '  In  truth,  1  have,  my  man,^ 
answered  I,  •  and  so  have  you,  and  I  should  much 
like  to  know  why  you  did  so.'  '  For  the  same  xea- 
son  that  you  did,  f  suppose,'  replied  the  boy,  for 
such  it  was  who  spoke. — '  And  what  reason  is  that?' 
I  asked.—'  Because  we  both  liked  it,  1  suppose/  re- 
plied he. — •  That  may  be,'  answered  f  ;  '  but  we  all 
nave  a  reason  for  our  likings.' — ''  True,  sir.'  said  tbs 
bey,  •  and  I  dare  say  yours  was  a  good  one  ;  pray, 
believe  that  mine  was  so  also  ' — All  the  time  he 
^poke,  he  kept  looking  round  at  me,  till  at  last  he 
got  a  good  sight  of  my  face.  '  Are  not  you 
Monsieur  de  Cinq  Mars  V  cried  he  at  length.  '  And 
if  I  am,  v\-hat  follows  then  ?' — ■  Why,  it  follows  that, 
you  are  the  person  1  want,'  said  the  boy. — ^  And 
what  want  you  viith  me  V — '  V/ho  is  that  ?"  deman- 
ded he,  pointing  to  De  Thou,  who  now  came  up.  I 
.soon  satisfied  him  on  that  score,  and  he  went  on.. 
'My  name  is  Henry  de  la  Mothe,  and  I  am  page-to^ 
your  good  friend,  the  Count  de  Blenau,  whom  I 
have  seen. arrested  and  carried  to  the  Bastille.' 

••  y'ow.  yoa  know,  Fonlrailles,  how  deac.  I  hold 
Do  Blenau  ;.  so  you  may  guess  how  pleasantly  this 
xajfig  upon  my  ear.  My  first  question  to  the  pnge 
was,.whet:-:er  ray  friend  had  sent  him  to  me.  '  No, 
no,  seigneur,' answered  the  boy;  'but  as  I  knew 
you  loved  my  master,  and  the  king  loved-  you,  I 
thnught  it  best  to  let  you  know,  in  case  you  migi»t 
wish  to  serve  him-. — He  was  taken  as  he  was  about 
to  go  with  the  queen  to  Chantilly,  and  tiiey  would 
not  let  me  or  any  other  go  with  him,  to  serve  him 
in  prison.  So  I  cast  about  in  my  mind,  howicotrid 
"■erve  him  out  of  it,  «nd  consequently  came  off  io 


ttlCHELItW.  109 

-^eek  you.' — *  But  how  did  you  know  where  to  find 
me  '?'  demanded  I,  not  a  little  fearing  that  our  move- 
ments were  watched  5  but  the  boy  relieved  me  from 
that  by  answering, '  Why,  sir,  there  was  a  messen- 
ger came  over  from  Chantiliy,  to  desire  the  qi>een's 
•presence  :  and  among  all  the  questions  I  asked  hira^ 
there  was  one  which  made  him  tell  me  thnl.  you  had 
gone  to  Troyes,  upon  some  business  of  inheritance, 
and  as  I  heard  that  the  path  through  this  wood  would 
save  me  a  league,  I  took  it,  hoping  to  reach  the 
town  to-night.' 

"  Well,  all  the  page's  news  vexed  me  not  a  little, 
and  I  thought  of  a  thousand  things  to  oelieve  De 
Blenau  ere  I  could  fix  on  any.  But  it  happened,  as 
it  often  does  in  this  world,  that  chance  directed  me 
•when  reasoning  failed.  Having  made  the  best  of 
*n»y  way,  I  arrived  with  De  Thou  and  the  boy  ac 
Chantiliy,  at  the  hour  of  nine  the  next  night,  and 
passing  towards  my  own  apartments  in  the  palace,  I 
saw  the  king's  cabinet  open,  and  on  inquiry,  found 
-that  he  had  not  yet  retired  to  rest.  JMy  resolution 
was  instanly  taken ;  and  without  waiting  even  to 
.dust  my  boots,  i  went  just  as  I  was,  to  pay  my  duty 
to  his  majesty.  My  short  absence  had  done  me  no 
harm  with  Louis,  who  received  me  with  more  grace 
than  ever;  so  while  the  newness  was  on,  1  dashed 
at  the  subject  next  my  heart  at  once.  Like  a  well- 
te-ed  falcon,  I  soared  my  foil  pitch,  hovered  an  in- 
-4*actin.my  pride  of  place,  and  then  stooped  at 
once  with  irresistible  force.  In  short,  Fontrailles, 
for  the  first  time  I  believe  in  my  life,  I  boasted.  I 
told  Louis  how  I  loved  him  ;  I  counted  over  the 
.services  I  had  done  him.  His  noble  heart — yoa 
■may  smile,  sir,  but  he  has  a  noble  heart — was  tou- 
ched ;  I  saw  it,«nd  gave  him  a  moment  to  think. 
over  all  old  passages  of  affection  betweeji  us,  and 
to  combine  them  with  the  feelings  of  the  mo- 
ment, and  then  I  told  him  that  my  friend— 
«y  bosom  friend-^was  suffering  from  the  tyraa- 
^  of  the  cardinal,  and  demanded  his  favor  for  De 
.Keaw.    *  What  can  I  do,  Cinq  Mars  V  demanded 


no  RICHELIEU. 

he,  '  you  know  I  must  follow  the  advice  ef  mj  mm- 
isters  and  counsellors.' 

"  It  was  an  opportunity  not  to  be  lost,*'  exclaimed 
Fontmilles,  ea':ferly  5  "  I  hope  you  seized  it.'' — ''I 
did,-"-  replied  Cinq  Mars.  "  I  plied  him  hard  on 
every  point  that  could  shake  the  influence  of  Rich- 
elieu. 1  showed  him  the  shameful  bondage  he  suf- 
fered. I  told  him,  that  if  he  allowed  the  sovereign 
power,  placed  by  God  in  his  hands,  to  be  abused  by 
another,  he  was  as  guilty  as  if  he  misused  it  himself  j. 
and  then  I  said — '  1  plead  alone  for  the  innocent^ 
sir.  Hear  Ds  Blenau  yourself,  and  if  you  find  him 
guilty,  bring  him  to  the  block  at  once.  But  if  he 
have  done  nothing  worthy  of  death  I  v/ill  trust  that 
ynur  majesty's  justice  will  instantly  set  him  free.' 
V\'cdl,  the  king  not  only  promised  that  he  would  go- 
to Paris  and  examine  De  Blenau  himself,  but  he  ad- 
ded, '  And  I  will  be  firm,  Cinq  Mars  ;  I  know  the- 
power  is  in  my  own  hands,  and  L  will  exert  it'to- 
save  your  friend,  if  he  be  not  criminal.' 

''  This  was  all  fair,  Fontrailles  }  1  could  desire  no 
more;  but  Louis  even  outdid  my  expectation.  Some- 
thing had  already  irritated  him  against  the  cardinal — 
I  think  it  was  the  banishment  of  Clara  de  Haute- 
ford.  However,  he  went  to  the  Bastille  with  Rich- 
elieu, Ghavigni,  and  others  of  the  council.  Of  course 
1  was  not  admitted  ;  but  I  heard  all  tliat  passed  from 
onf» who  was  present.  De  Blenau  bore  him  nobly 
and  bravely,  and  downrig^ht  refused  to  answer  any 
questions  about  the  queen,  without  her  majesty's 
own  commands.  Well ;  Richelieu  according  to 
custom,  was  for  giving  him  the  torture  instantly. 
But  the  king  had  many  gocd  reasons  for  not  suffering 
that  to  be  done.  Besides  wishing  to  pleasure  me^ 
and  being  niturally  averse  to  cruelty,  he  had  a 
lingering  inclination  to  cross  Richelieu  ;  and  I>e 
Blenau's  firmness  set  him  a  good  example  :  so- 
the  cardinal  was  overruled  ;  and  the  queen's  com- 
mands to  De  Blenau  to  confess  all  being  easily 
procured,  he  owned  that  he  had  forw^arded  letters 
from  her  majesty  to  her  brother  the  King  of  Spain- 


RICHELIEU.  Ill 

Now,  you  see,  Rich<^iieu  was  angry,  and  irritated 
at  being  thwarted ;  and  he  did  the  most  foolish 
thing  that  man  ever  did;  for  though  he  saw  that 
Louis  was  roused,  and  just  in  the  humour  to  cross 
him,  he  got  up,  and  not  considering  the  king's 
presence,  at  once  pronounced  a  sentence  of  exile 
against  De  Blenau,  as  if  the  sovereign  power  had 
been  entirely  his  own,  without  consulting  Louis,  or 
asking  his  approbation  at  all.  Though,  God  knows, 
the  king  cares,  little  about  using  his  power,  of  course 
he  does  not  like  to  be  treated  as  a  mere  cipher 
before  his  own  council  ;  and  accordingly  he  re- 
voked the  cardinal's  sentence  without  hesitation, 
Bending  De  Blenau,  merely  for  form's  sake,  into 
Bourbon,  and  then  rising,  he  broke  up  the  council, 
treating  Richelieu  with  as  scanty  consideration  as 
he  had  shown  himself.  By  Heaven!  Fontrailles, 
when  I  heard  it,  1  could  have  played  the  fool  for 
joy.  Richelieu  was  deeply  touched,  you  may  sup- 
pose ;  and  what  with  his  former  ill-health  and  this 
new  blow,  he  has  never  been  himself  since  ;  but  I 
knew  Snot  that  he  was  so  far  gone  as  you  de- 
scribe." 

"  It  is  so  reported  in  Paris,"  replied  Fontrailles, 
''  and  he'has  become  so  humble  that  no  one  would 
know  him.  But  mark  me.  Cinq  Mars.  The  cardi- 
nal is  now  upon  ,the  brink  of  a  precipice,  and  we 
must  urge  him  quickly  down  ;  for  if  he  once  again 
gain  the  ascendency,' we  are  not  only  lost  foi:^/- 
er,  but  his  power  will  be  far  greater  than  it  was 
before." 

"  He  will  never  rise  more  in  this  world,"  an- 
swered Cinq  Mars.  "  His  day,  I  trust,  is  gone  by  : 
his  health  is  broken ;  and  the  king,  who  always 
hated  him>  now  begins  to  fear  him  no  longer.  I 
will  do  my  best  to  strengthen  Louis's  resolution, 
and  get  him  into  a  way  of  thinking  for  himself. 
And  now,  Fontrailles,  for  the  news  from  Spain." 

"  Why,  my  story  might  be  made  longer  than 
yours,  if  I  were  to  go  through  all  that  happened  to 
me  on  the  road.     It  was  a  long  and  barren  jou*- 


112  RICHELIEU 

Bey,  and  I  believe  1  should  have  been  almoet  star- 
ved before  I  reached  Madrid,  if  I  had  not  half- 
filled  my  bags  with  biscuits,  Hovsever,  1  arrived 
at  length,  and  not  witlioiit  some  diificully  found 
a  place  to  lodge,  for  these  cold  Spaniards  are  as 
fearlui  of  admitting  a  stranger  to  their  house,  as 
if  he  were  a  man-tiger.  My  next  step  was  to  send 
for  a  tailor,  and  to  hire  me  a  lacquais  or  two.  one 
of  whom  I  sent  instantly  to  Madame  de  Chevreuse, 
praying  an  audience  of  her^  which  was  granted  im- 
mediately."' 

'•  Why  ihoa  wert  not  mad  enough  to  make  a  con^ 
dajite  of  Madame  de  Chevreuse  ?'•' exclaimed  Cinq 
Mars;  "why,  it  is  carrying  water  in  a  sieve.  A 
thousand  to  one  ?he  makes  her  peace  with  Riche- 
heo.  by  telling  him  the  whole  story.'*' 

''  Fear  not,  Cinq  Mar?,"'  answered  Fontrailles, 
^  Have  you  yet  to  learn  that  a  woman's  ftfst  p.^ssion 
isievenge  ?  To  such  extent  is  the  hatred  of  Mad- 
ame de  Chevreuse  against  the  Cardinal,  that  i  be- 
)ieve,were  she  asked  to  sacrifice  one  of  her  beautiful 
hands,  she  would  doit, if  it  would  but  conduce  to 
his  ruin." 

Cinq  Mars  shook  his  head;,  still  doubting  the  pro- 
priety of  what  had  been  done,  but  Fontraille»  pro- 
ceeded. 

"  However,  I  told  her  nothing;  she  knew  it  all  be- 
fore 1  set  foot  in  Spain.  You  must  know.  King  Flftl- 
i^  is  a  monarch  noway  insensible  to  female  charms, 
and  the  duchess  is  too  lovely  to  passurnoticed  any- 
where. The  consequences  are  natural ;  a  lady  of 
her  rank  having  taken  refuge  in  his  dominioiis.  of 
course  the  king  mast  pay  her  every  attention.  He  is 
always  with  her— 4ias  a  friendship,  a  j)f7?r/jon<,  an  af- 
fection ferher — call  it  what  you  %vill,but  it  is  that  sort 
of  feeling  which  makes  a  •mau'teW-a  woman  every 
thin^r;  and  thus  very  naturally  our  whole  correspon- 
dence has  gone  direct  toj  Madame  de  Chevreuse. 
My  object  in  first  asking  to  see  her,  was  only  to  gain 
an  immediate  audience  of  the' king^  which  she  caa 
al  A  aye  comjnand  ;  bat  when  I  fcuad  she  Ttnew.  the 


-RICHELIEU.  113 

w^iole  business,  of  course  I  made  her  believe  that  I 
^came  for  the  express  purpose  of  consulting  her  upon 
it.  Her  vanity  was  flattered.  She  became  more 
than  ever  convinced  that  she  was  a  person  of  infinite 
consequence  and  acknowledged  discernment ;  enter- 
ed heart  and  hand  into  all  our  schemes  ;  stuck  out 
her  pretty  little  foot,and  made  me  buckle  her  shoe  ; 
brought  me  speedily  to  the  king's  presence,  and 
made  him  consent  to  all  1  wished  ;  got  the  treaty 
signed  and  sealed,  and  sent  me  back  to  France  witli 
-my  object  accomplished,  remaining,  herself  fully 
convinced  thnt  she  is  at  tlie  head  of  the  most  formida- 
ble conspiracy  that  ever  was  formed,  and  that  future 
ages  will  celebrate  her  talents  for  diplomacy  and 
intrigue." 

Cinque  Mars,  though  not  fully  satisfied  at  the  ad- 
mission of  so  light  a  being  as  Madame  de  Chevre- 
use  into  secrets  of  such  importance,  could  not  help 
amiling  at  the  account  his  companion  gave  ;  and 
as  it  was  in  vain  to  regret  what  was  done,  he  turned 
Jto  the  present,  asking  what  was  to  be  done  next. 
"('No  time  is  now  to  be  lost,"  said  he.  "For  the 
whole  danger  is  now  incurred  and  we  must  not  allow 
it  to  be  fruitless." 

''  Certainly  not.'"  answered  Fontrailles.  "  You 
must  ply  the  king  hard  to  procure  his  consent  as  far 
as  possible.  In  the  next  place  a  counterpart  of  the 
treaty  must  be  signed  by  all  the  confederates,  and 
sent  into  Spain,  for  which  1  have  pledged  my  v/ord.j 
and  another,  similarly  signed,  must  be  sent  to 
the  Duke  of  Bouillon  in  Italy.  But  who  will  carry 
it  to  the  duke  ?  that  is  tiie  question.  1  cannot  ab- 
sent myself  again." 

"  1  vvill  provide  a  messenger,"  sard  Cinq  Mars. 
"There  is  an  Italian  attached  to  my  service, named 
Ville  Grande,  a  ?nrt  of  half-bred  <{Gntleman,  who, 
lacking  gold  himself,  hangs  upon  any  vvlio  will  feed 
him.  'I'liey  im^^di  at  him  here  for  his  long  musta- 
chtos,  and  his  long  rapier  ;  but  if  he  tell  truth,  his 
rapier  has  done  good  service  ;  so,  as  this  will  be  an 
lUadertaking  of  danger,  lie.shall  have  it,  as  he  sajs 


114  KIOHELIEU. 

he  seeks  but  to  distinguish  himself  in  my  service, 
apd,  being  on  Italian,  he  knows  the  country  to 
which  he  is  going."' 

"  If  you  can  trust  him,  be  it  so,'"  replied  Fon- 
trailles*  '^  At  present  let  us  look  to  other  consid- 
erations. We  must  seek  to  strengthen  our  party 
by  ail  means ;  for  though  circumstances  seem  to 
combine  to  favor  us,  yet  it  is  necessary  to  guard 
against  any  change.  Do  you  think  that  the  queen 
could.be  brought  to  join  us?" 

'•  Certainly  not !"  replied  the  master  of  the  horse; 
"  and  if  she  would,  to  us  it  would  be  far  more 
dangerous  than  advantageous.  She  has  no  power 
over  the  mind  of  the  king — she  has  no  separate  au- 
thority ■  and  besides,  thousrh  Richelieu's  avowed 
enemy,  she  is  so  cautious  of  giving  offence  to  Lou- 
is, that  she  would  consent  to  nothing  that  was  not 
openly  warranted  by  him." 

'•■  But  suppose  we  are  obliged  to  have  recourse  to 
arms,"  said  Fontrailles/-would  it  not  be  every  thing 
in  our  favor  to  have  in  our  hands  the  queen  and  the 
heir  apparent  to  the  throne.'- 

'•  True,'- answered  Cinq  Mars;  '-'but  if  we  are 
driven  to  such  extremity,  she  will  be  obliged  to  de- 
clare for  some  party,  and  that  of  necessity  must  be 
ours;  for  she  will  never  side  with  Richelieu.  We 
can  also  have  her  well  surrounded  by  her  friends, 
and  seize  upon  the  Dauphin  should  the  case  require 
it." 

"  What  say  you,  then,  to  trying  the  Count  de 
Blenau  ?  He  is  your  friend.  He  is  brave,  expert  in 
war.  and  just  such  a  man  as  leads  the  blind  multi- 
tude. But  more,  he  is  wealthy  and  powerful,  and 
has  much  credit   in  Lanjuedoc." 

*-'  I  do  not  know,"  said'Cinq  Mars,  thoughtfully, 
"  I  do  not  know.  Da  Blenau  would  never  betray 
us,  even  if  he  refused  to  aid  our  scheme.  But  I 
much  think  his  scruples  would  go  further  than  even 
De  Thou's.  1  have  often  remarked,  he  has  that  sort 
of  nicety  in  his  idea?  which  will  not  suffer  him  to 


raCHELlETJ.  115 

enter  into  any  thing  which  may,  by  even  a  remote 
chance,  casta  shade  upon  tiis  name." 

"  Well,  we  can  try  him  at  all  events,"  said  Fon- 
trailles.  "  You,  Cinq  Mars,  can  ask  him  whether 
he  will  join  the  liberators  of  his  country." 

"  No,  Fontrnilles,"  answered  the  master  of  the 
horse  in  a  decided  tone  y  "no,  1  will  not  do  it. — 
Claude  de  Blenau  is  a  man  by  whom  I  should  not 
like  to  be  refused.  Besides,  I  should  hesitale  to 
involve  him,  young  and  noble-hearted  as  he  is,  in  a^ 
scheme  which  might  draw  down  ruin  on  his  head." 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  Cinq  Mars,/"  cried 
Fontrailles,  with  real  astonishment  at  a  degree  of 
generosity  of  which  he  could  find  no  trace  in  his 
own  bosom,  '*  of  whrit  are  you  dreaming  ?  Are  you 
phrensied  ?  Why,  you  have  engaged  life  and  for- 
tune, hope  and  happiness,  in  this  scheme  yourself, 
and  can  you  love  another  man  better  V 

"  There  is  every  difference,  Fontrailles — every 
difference.  If  1  cut  my  own  throat,  I  am  a  fool 
and  a  madman,  granted  ;  but  if  I  cut  the  throat  of 
another  man,  I  am  a  murderer,  which  is  somewhat 
worse.  But  I  will  be  plain  with  you.  I  have  em- 
barked in  this  with  my  eyes  open,  and  it  is  my  own 
fault.  Therefore,  whatever  happens,  I  will  go  on 
and  do  my  best  fur  om*  success.  But  mark  me, 
Fontrailles,  if  all  were  to  come  over  again,  I  would 
rather  lay  down  one  of  my  hands, and  have  it  chop- 
ped off,than  enter  into  any  engagement  of  the  kind." 

A  cloud  came  over  the  brow  of  Fontrailles  for  a 
momrnt  and  a  gleam  of  rage  lighted  up  his  dark 
gray  eye,  which  soon,  however,  passed  away  from 
his  features,  though  the  rankling  passion  still  lay  at 
his  heart,  like  a  smouldering  fire,  which  wants  but 
a  touch  to  blaze  forth  and  destroy.  But  his  look,  as 
I  have  said,  was  soon  cleared  of  all  trace  of  angerj 
and  he  replied  v/ith  that  show  of  clieerfilness 
which  he  well  knew  how  to  assume.  "  Well,  Cinq 
Mars,  I  do  not  look  upon  it  in  so  gloomy  a  liglit  as 
you  do  :  though  perhaps,  were  it  now  to  begin,  1 
might  not  be  so  ready  in  it  either,  for  the  chances 


11^  RICHELIEU. 

we  have  run"are  great;  but  these  I  tj-ust,are  over,and 
every  thing  certainly  looks  prosperous  at  present. 
However,  there  is  no  use  in  thinking  what  either  of 
us  might  do  had  we  now  our  choice.  We  are  botli 
too  hr  engaged  to  go  back  at  this  lime  of  day  ;  so 
Jet  us  think  alone  of  insuring  success,  and  the  glr.ry 
of  having  attempted  to  free  our  country  will  at  least 
be  ours,  let  the  worst  befall  us.'' 

The  word  glory  was  never  v.-ithout  its  effect  cm 
Cinq  Mars.  It  was  his  passion,  and  was  but  the 
more  violent  from  the  restr  int  to  which  his  con- 
stant attendance  on  the  king  had  subjected  it,  sel- 
dom having  been  enabled  to  display  in  their  proper 
field  thoeehigh  qualities  which  he  possessed  as  a 
soldier.  •'  So  far  you  are  right,  P'ontrailles,"'  repli- 
ed he  ;  ''  the  glory  even  of  the  attempt  is  great,an^ 
we  have  but  one  coarse  to  pursue,  wjiich  is  straight- 
-forward  to  our  object.  You,  do  every  thing  to  bind 
the  fickle  goddess  to  our  cause,  and  so  will  I ;  but 
thinking  as  I  do,  I  cannot.find  it  in  my  heart  to  in- 
volve De  Blenau.  Manage  that  as  you  like  ;  only 
do  not  ask  me  to  do  it." 

"Oh,  that  is  easily  done,'"  answered  Fontraille», 
"without  your  bearing  any  part  in  it.  Of  course 
•each  of  the  confederates  has  a  right  to  invite  whom- 
soever he  may  think  proper  to  join  his  party,  and  it 
would  be  highly  dishonorable  of  any  other  to  dis- 
suade the  person  so  invited  from  aiding  the  scheme 
on  which  all  our  lives  depend.  The  .Count  de  "Bie- 
-na-u,  1  think  you  sar,  is  now  retired  to  Bourbon.— 
There  also  is  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  and  I  will  take 
care  that  he  shall  broach  the  subject  to  the  count 
without  implicating  you." 

Cinq  Mars  started  from  his  seat,  and  began  pac- 
ing the  room  with  his  eves  bent  on  the  ground. feel- 
in;.;  an  undefined  sensation  of  dissatisfaction  at  th« 
plans  of  Fonlrailles.  yet  hardly  knowing  how  to  op- 
pose them.  '•  Well,  well,'"'  said  he  at  length  ;  "  it 
is  your  business,  not  mine  ;  and  besides,  I  do  not 
in  'the  least,  think  that  De  Blenau  will  listen  to  yo« 
for  a  moment.     He  has  other  thing*  Uf  think   oi— 


KICIIELIEU.  U7 

Mademoiselle  de  Beaumont  is  absent,  and  no  one 
knows  where  5  and  he  must  soon  hear  of  it." 

*'  Be  that  as  it  may/'  replied  Fontrailles,  "  I  will 
try.  And  now,  Cinq  Mars,  let  me  touch  upon  an- 
other point  t'^and  the  wily  canspirator  prepared  all 
his  powers  to  work  upon  the  mind  of  his  less  cau- 
tious companion,  and  to  urge  him  on  to  an  attempt 
which  had  already  been  the  object  of  more  than 
one  conspiracy  in  that  day,  but  which,  by  some  un- 
accountable means,  had  always  tailed  without  any 
apparent  difficulty  or  obstacle.  This  was  no  <  ther 
than  the  assassination  of  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu; 
and  those  who  read  the  memoirs  of  the  faction- 
breathing  Gondi,  or  any  oiher  of  the  historical  re- 
cords of  the  time,  will  wonder  how,  without  any 
precaution  for  his  personal  safety,  Richelieu  escap- 
ed the  many  hands  vvhiclj  were  armed  for  his  de- 
Btruction. 

Princes  and  nobles,  warriors  and  politicians  hatt 
though'  it  no  crime  to  undertake  the  death  of  this 
tyrant  minister  ;  but  yet  there  was  something  in  the 
mind  of  Cinq  Mars  so  opposite  to  every  thing  base 
and  treacherous,that  Fontrailles  feared  to  approach 
boldlv  the  proposal  he  was  about  to  make.  "  Let 
us  suppose,  my  noble  friend,"  said  he,  in  that  slow 
and  energetic  manner  which  often  lends  authority 
to  bad  argument,  '■  that  all  our  schemes  succeed—- 
that  the  tyrant  is  stripped  of  the  power  he  has  so 
abused — that  the  tiger  is  enveloped  in  our  toils. — 
What  are  we  to  do  '/  Are  we  to  content  ourselves 
with  having  caught  him  ?  Arc  we  only  to  hold  him 
for  a  moment  in  oiir  power,  and  tlien  set  him  loose 
again,  once  more  to  ravage  France,  and  to  destroy 
ourselves?  And  if  we  agree  to  hold  him  in  cap- 
tivity, where  siiall  we  find  chains  sufficient  to  bind 
him,  or  a  cage  in  which  we  can  confine  him  with 
security,  wiien  there  a  thousand  other  tigers  of  his 
race  ready  to  attack  the  hunters  of  their  fellow  V.' 

"  I  propose  nolhisg  of  the  kind,"  answered  Cinq 
MatB  ;  "  once  stripped  of  his  authority,  let  him  be 
Vraigned-for  the  crimes  which  be  ha^committed^ 


118  -  TtTClIELlEU- 

and  suffer  the  death  he  has  merited.  The  blood  of 
thousands  will  cry  out  for  justice,  and  his  very  crea- 
tures will  spurn  the  monster  which  they  eerved 
from  fear.'' 

"  Then  you  think  him  worthy  of  death,  said  Fon- 
traillfis,  in  that  kind  of  undecided  manner  which 
showed  that  he  felt  he  was  treading  on  dangerous 
ground.  "  Worthy  of  death'"  exclaimed  Cinq  Marsj 
**  who  can  doubt  it  ? — Fontrailles,  what  is  it  that 
you  mean  ?  You  speak  as  if  there  was  something  ia 
your  mind  that  you  know  not  how  to  discover. 
Speak,  man.     What  is  it  you  would  say  V 

'•  Who  will  deny  that  Brutus  was  a  patriot  ?'*.said 
Fontrailles  5  '*  a  brave,  a  noble,  and  a  glorious  man"? 
And  Brutus  stabbed  Caesar  in  the  Capitol  1 — Cinq 
Mars,  when  the  freedom  of  our  country  is  at  stake, 
shall  we  wait  tamely  till  we  have  prsached  a  timid 
monarch  into  compliance ,  or  drawn  a  foreign  power 
to  our  aid,  when  07ie — si7igle — hand  could  do  the 
V. Oik  of  justice,  and  rid  the  world  of  a  tyrant  who 
has  lived  so  much  too  long?" 

•'•'  Ha  !"  exclaimed  Cinq  Mars,  starting  back,  and. 
laying  his  hand  upon  his  sword;  "dost  thcu  sup- 
pose me  an  assassin  ?  Art  thou  one  thyself,  that 
thou  canst  so  well  gloze  over  murder  with  a  stale 
tale  of  antiquity  ? — Monsieur  de  Fontrailles,"  he 
continued  more  calmly,  but  still  with  stern  indigna- 
tion, 'you  have  mistaken  the  person  to  whom  you 
addressed  yourself.  Pardon  me.  We  will  speak  no 
more  upon  this  subject,  lest  w^e  end  worse  friends 
than  we  began." 

Fontrailles  was  not  a  common  hypocrite  3  he  saw 
at  once  that  on  this  point  persuasion  would  be  vain, 
and  defence  of  his  tirst  proposal  would  but  lea>;e 
the  worse  impression  on  the  mind  of  his  compan- 
ion ;  and  therefore  his  determination  was  formed  in 
a  moment  to  take  up  the  exact  reverse  position  to 
that  which  he  had  just  occupied,  and  if  possible  to 
force  Cinq  Mars  into  a  belief  that  the  proposal  had 
only  been  made  to  try  him.  The  first  wild  start  of 
his  companion  had  caused  Fontrailles  to  draw  back 


BICHKLIiFU  119 

almost  in  fear  J  but  instantly  recovering  himself, 
like  a  well  trained  actor,  every  muscle  of  whose 
face  is  under  command,  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  Cinq 
jVIars,  and  instead  of  any  sign  of  anger  or  disap- 
pointment, he  threw  into  his  countenance  an  ex- 
pression of  gratified  admiration.  "  Cinq  Mars,  my 
noble  friend  !'  he  exclaimed,  opening  his  arms  to 
embrace  him  as  the  other  concluded  3  "  you  are  the 
man  I  thought  jou  !  Pardon  me  if  I  have  sought 
to  trv  you  !  but  when  1  heard  you  propose  to  effect 
the  cardinal's  life  by  our  plans,  I  knew  not  how  far 
that  idea  might  lead  you,  and  1  wisiied  to  be  sure  of 
the  man  with  whom  I  was  so  deeply  engaged.  I 
declare  before  Heaven,  that  had  I  lound  that  you 
proposed  to  do  Richelieu  to  death  by  aught  but  le- 
gal means,  I  should  have  been  deeply  grieved,  and 
would  have  fled  from  France  wheree'er  my  fortune 
might  lead, leaving  you  to  follow  your  plans  as  best 
you  might.  But  i  am  now  satished,  and  demand 
your  pardon  for  having  ever  doubted  you." 

Cinq  IVIars  suffered  llie-euibrace  which  Fontrail- 
les  protlered,  but  returned  it  coldly.  Acting  is  ever 
acting,  however  near  it  may  approacli  to  nature  j  and 
notwithstanding  all  the  Isypocritical  art  of  which 
Fonlrailles  was  a  mastt-r,  and  which  he  took  care 
to  exert  on  the  present  occasion,  the  mind  of  Cinq 
Mars  still  retained  its  doubts  as  to  the  character  of 
t,he  man  with  vvhom  he  had  so  closely  linked  his 
I'ate,  "  if  he  is  a  villain,''  I'lought  the  master  of  the 
horse,  "  ho  is  a  most  black  and  consummate  villain;" 
and  though  they  parted  aftparentiy  friends,  the  re- 
collection of  that  moraiiig  s  conversation  still  haunt- 
ed the  imagination  of  Cinq  Mars  like  some  ill  vis- 
ion; nor  did  the  impression  cease  with  his  waking 
thoughts,  but  visited  him  even  during  the  hours  of 
repose,  making  him  believe  himself  chained  in  a 
dungeon  with  Fonlrailles  standing  over  him,  turning 
a  dagger  round  and  round  in  his  heart,  while  ever 
and  unon  he  cried,  "  Thou  art  the  murderer  !" 


120  RICHELIEU, 

CHAPTER  X. 


Which  evinces  t!ie  necessity  of  saymg  No  ;  anil  s'iows  what  A 
is  la  liunt  upon  a  wrong;  scent. 

Ik  journeyin;?  onward  towards  the  Bourbonnois, 
the  ihoughts  of  De  Blenau  had  full  lime  In  rest  up- 
on the  late  occurrences  5  and  though  tliese  had  been 
of  such  a  fearful  nature,  yet  so  rapidly  had  they 
passed,  that  dangers  and  sorrows,  p-jsons  and  trials, 
Hoated  before  his  remembrance  like  a  confused  and 
uncertain  dream;  and  it  required  an  effort  to  tix  all; 
the  particular  circumstances  in  tiieir  correct  posi- 
tion, for  the  purpose  of  investigating  the  motives  of 
the  principal  actors  in  those  events  which  had  so 
deeply  affected  himself. 

Tliis,  v/hen  he  could  turn  his  mind  from  happier 
contemplations,  was  the  principal  occupation  of  hiB 
thoughts;  and  more  especiallv  in  reflecting  upon 
th.  conduct  of  the  king.  De  Blenau  ima2i!;ed. that 
he  could  perceive  a  regular  design  in  every  part  of 
the  monarch's  behavior,  which  in  tiuth  it  did  not 
possess.  Uiider  this  vievv  he  was  left  to  conclude, 
that  he  had  boen  ordered  to  retire  to  Bourbon  for 
the  .spocific  reason  that  he  had  there  no  acquain* 
tance  or  inlluence  v-hich  could  be  danfiorous  to  the 
government ;  but  it  is  more  probable  that  Louis  not 
wishing  to  reverse  the  cardinal's  sentence  entirely, 
by  freely  pardoiiing  De  Blenau,  tiad  in  the  hurry  of 
the  moment  meutioned  any  province  that  suggested 
itself  However  that  might  be,  it  so  happened  that 
De  Blenau  was  hardly  known  to  any  individual  with- 
in the  limits  to  which,  by  the  kings  command^ he 
wag  bound  to  confine  himself.  Nor  did  he  feel  any 
additional  uncomfort  in  the    prospect  of  passing  % 


RICHELIEU.  121 

short  space  of  time  in  comparative  solitude ;  for  hia 
mind  was  npt  likely  to  be  well  attuned  to  society, 
while  constrained  to  absent  himself  from  those  be 
loved  best  j  and  he  was  rather  pleased  than  other- 
wise, that  the  time  of  his  separation  from  Pauline 
would  be  passed  without  the  annoyance  of  associa- 
ting with  people  to  whom  he  was  indifterent. 

De  Blenau's  first  care,  on  arriving  at  MouUnQS, 
was  to  write  to  Pauline  de  Beaumont. 

Fancy  might  easily  supply  his  letter,  \yhich  is 
ollierwise  irrecoverably  gone  5  but  as  each  reader's 
imagination  will  do  more  justice  to  it,  according  to 
his  own  taste,  than  mine  could  do,  I  will  leave  it 
unwritten  here,  especially  as  I  have  undertaken  to 
commemoiate  truth  only  3  and  1  really  know  noth- 
ing of  the  matter.  Suffice  it  that  it  was  full  of  all 
that  affection,  and  gratitude  and  hope,  and  delight 
could  suggest,  and  gave  a  bright  picture  of  a  bright 
and  happy  mind.  As  couriers  and  poats  in  those 
days  were  as  different  froni  such  things  at  present, 
as  the  first  wooden  deck  was  from  a  modern  chro- 
jiometer,  De  Blenau  did  not  choose  to  trust  his  let- 
ter to  the  uncertain  conveyance  of  the  government 
carrier,  or,  as  he  was  then  called,  the  ordinaire; 
but  placing  it  in  the  hands  of  his  trusty  page  Henry 
de  la  Mothe,  he  sent  him  forth  upon  a  journey  to 
St,  Germain,  with  orders  to  deliver  many  a  kind 
greeting  to  Pauline  in  person,  and  to  bring  back 
an  answer  with  all  speed. 

The  boy  set  out,  and  De  Blenau,  fl^tterng  blip- 
self  with  the  idea  that  his  banishment  from  court 
would  not  be  of  any  long  continuance,  took  his  res- 
idence fo|-  the  time  in  the  immediate  neighborhood 
of  Moulins,  contenting  himself  with  an  old  chateau, 
the  proprietor  of  which  was  very  willing — his  for- 
tune and  his  castle  both  being  somewhat  decayed — 
to  sacrifice  his  pride  of  birth,  in  consideration  of  a 
hajadsomc  remuneration  from  the  young  count. 

Here  De  Blenau  had  dwelt  some  time,  waiting 
j^  return  of  hii|  ai3S9.engev,  and  in  poasessioii  ol 

TOL.   II.  9 


122  RICIIELIKO. 

that  quiet  solitude  most  consonant  to  his  feelings, 
when  he  was  disturbed  by  a  billet  left  at  his  gate  by 
a  horseman,  who  waited  not  to  be  questioned,  but 
rode  away  immediailv  after  having  delivered  it.  The 
note  itself  merely  contained  a  request,  that  the 
Count  de  Blenau  would  ride  in  the  direclioa  cf  St. 
Aniand  on  the  following  evf^ning,  at  the  hour  of 
fuur,  when  he  would  meet  with  one  who  had  busin- 
ess of  importance  to  communicate.  The  handwri- 
ting was  unknown  to  him,  and  de  Blenau  at  first 
hesitated  whether  to  obey  the  summons  or  not;  but 
curiosity  has  a  thousand  ways  of  strengthening  it- 
self, and  at  In-t  he  rensoncd  himspif  into  a  bclipf, 
that  whatever  it  might  be,,  no  harm  could  accrue 
from  his  compliance. 

Accordingly,  on  the  following  evening,  as  the 
hour  drew  ne^r,  he  mounlifd  Ids  horse,  and,  ac- 
companied by  his  usual  attendants,  proceeded  to- 
wards St.  Amand.  Having  ridden  on  for  more  than 
an  hour  without  meeting  any  one  above  the  rank  of 
a  peas.ant,  he  began  to  accuse  himself  for  hnving 
been  the  dupe  of  what  might  prove  some  foolisfi 
joke.  He  had  even  reined  in  his  Imrse  with  the 
purpose  of  returning,  when  he  perceived  a  person 
approachvng  on  horseback,  who.  notwitiistindinga 
sort  of  carelessness, — e\en  perhaps,  slovenliness 
of  mnnner  and  carriage — iiad  about  him  that  utidefi, 
nable  air,  which  in  all  ages,  and  in  every  cruise- 
denotes  a  gentleman,  and  a  diilingu'shcd  o  e.  It 
was  not,  however,  till  he  came  near,  that  Do  Ble- 
nau recognised  Gaston  Duke  of  Orleans,  whom  he 
had  not  seen  for  some  time.  The  moment  he 
did  remember  him,  he  g;ive  him  the  centre  of  the 
road,  and  saliiting  him  respectfully,  was  passinij  on, 
never  dreaming  that  the  summons  he  had  received 
could  have  proceeded  from  him, 

'•  Good  dav,  Monsieur  de  Blenau.  You  are  clora' 
tipon  the  hour,''  said  the  duke,  drawing  np  hia 
horse,  and  at  once  allowing  the  count  to  tinder* 
stand  that  it  v/as  with  him  tliat  the  appoiatment 
had  been  made. 

?  •  -I 


RICIIETLIEU.  \  23 

'  I  was  not  aware/'  replied  De  Blenau,  "  thnt 
the  summons  which  I  received  last  night  was  from 
so  honorable  a  hand,  or  I  should  have  had  no  hesi- 
tation in  obeying." 

'•  Why,  that  is  right,"  said  the  duke.  "  The  truth 
is,  I  wished  much  to  see  you,  Monsieur  le  Comte, 
upon  a  business  wherein  you  may  not  only  be  of 
much  service  to  yourself  and  me,  but  also  to  yonr 
country.  We  will  ride  on,  if  you  please  5  and  as  we 
go,  I  will  explain  myself  farther." 

De  Blenau  turned  his  horse,  and  "rode  with  the 
duke  }  but  the  warning  wliich  Chavigr.i  had  g^iYen 
him,  came  strongly  into  his  mind  5  and  Gaston  of 
Orleans  was  too  famous  for  the  unfortunate  con- 
spiracies in  which  he  had  been  engaged,  for  De 
Blenau  to  think  with  aught  but  horror,  of  acting  in 
any  way  with  a  man,  the  weak  versatility  of  whose 
disposition  had  already  brouglit  more  than  one  of 
Jiis  friends  to  the  scaffold.  He  therefore  waited  for 
the  duke's  communication,  determined  to  cut  it 
short  as  soon  as  propriety  admitted  ;  and  even  to 
deviate  from  the  respect  due  to  his  rank,  rather  than 
become  the  confidant  <>i  a  prince,  whose  station  was 
his  sole  title  to  "reverence. 

"  You  do  not  -answer  me,  Monsieur  de  Blenau," 
said  the  duke,  after  having  waited  a  moment  or  two 
for  some  reply.  "  Are  you,  sir,  inclined  to  serve 
your  country  ;  or  is  the  Cardinal  deRichelieu  your 
good  friend  ?" 

"  That  I  am  inclined  to  serve  my  conntry,"  re- 
plied De  Blenau,  ■  your  highness  need  not  doubt  ; 
and  when  my  sword  can  avail  that  country  against  a 
foreign  adversary,  it  shall  always  be  ready  at  her 
call.  In  regard  to  his  eminence  of  Richelieu,  I 
hope  that  he  is  no  more  my  enemy  than  I  am  his  j 
and  that  he  will  no  more  attempt  to  injure  me  than 
1  will  to  injure  him." 

"  But  has  he  not  endeavored  to  injure  you  al- 
ready ?■'  said  the  duke.  "  Listen  to  me,  Sir  Count. 
Suppose  tliatthee  were  many  men  at  this  moment 
well  inclined  to  free    France  from  the  voke  under 


ff^  RICHELIEU 

which  she  labors.     Suppose  I  were  to  tell  you  that^ 

"  Let  me  beseech  your  highness,  interposed  De 
Blenau,  "  to  tell  me  no  more  :  lor,  if  I  understand 
you  rightly,  it  must  be  a  confidence  dangerous  ei- 
ther to  you  or  me — dangerous  to  yoa,  if  1  reveal- 
it  5  and  dangerous  to  me,  if  1  do  not.  Pardon  me, 
my  lord,  for  interrupting  you  3  but  let  my  ears  re- 
main in  their  present  innocence  of  what  you  mean.. 
What  maybe  your  wishes  with  me,  1  know  not.  :• 
but  before  you  proceed  farther,-  let  me  say  that  I 
will  enter  into  no  scheme  w  hatever  against  a  gov- 
ernment to  which  his  majesty  has  given  his  sanc- 
tion, aad  which  it  is  always  in  his  power  to  alter 
or  remove  at  his  pleasure,  without  any  one  being. 
entitled  to  questio.u  his  authority,  either  in  raising 
it  or  casting  it  down.  And  now,  having  ventured  ta 
premise  thus  much,  if  I  can  serve  }<.i:r  highness, 
personally,  in  any  way  whcr'^.  my  Lonor  and  my 
allegiance  are  not  at  all  implicated,  1  ishall  be  most 
kappy  in  aa  opportunity  of  showing  my  attachment 
to  your  royal  person  and  family.'' 

'•  Why  then,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  replied  thd 
duke,  '•  I  think  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  tura* 
our  horses  ditferent  ways,  and  forget  tiiat  we  have 
met  to-day  at  all.  Our  conferenee  has  been  shorty 
But  it  has  been  to  the  purpose.  But  ofcourse,  be- 
fore we  part,  (  e.xpect  your  promise,  ns  a  man  of. 
honor,  that  you  will  not  betray  me. 

•'  I  have  nothing  to  betray,  my  lord,"  replied  De- 
Blenau  with  a  smile.  "'  We  have  met  on  the  road 
to  St.  Amand.  We  have  not  been  five  minutes  in 
each  other's  company.  Your  highness  has  told  me 
nothing,  whatever  1  may  have  suspected  ;  therefore 
you  may  rest  perfectly  secure  tha.t  I  have*  nolhirg 
10  betray,  even  if  they  put  me  to  the  torture  to- 
morrow. But  as  I  think  that  for  your  highness's 
sake  we  had  better  beas  little  together  as  possible, 
1  will  hamblv  take  my  leave." 

So  saying,  De  Blenau  bowed  low,  and  turned  his 
horee  towards   Moultns,  the  Duke  of  Orleans   pre- 


HtCHELIEU.  :  125 

jSSring  to  take  the  other  road;  but  swddenly  the 
latter  stopped,  and  "turning  his  head,  asked  if  De 
Blenau  had  gained  any  news  of  Mademoiselle  d6 
Beaumont. 

"  I  am  not  aware  of  what  your  highness  alludes 
to/'  replied  De  Blenau,  quickly  reining  in  his  horse, 
retnrning  to  thfe  side  of  the  duke. 

"  What,  then  you  have  not  heard— when  had 
you  letters  from  St.  Germ  ain  1" 

"  Heard  what  ?  In  the  name  of  God,  speak,  my 
lord !"  cried  De  Blenau  :  "Do  not  keep  me  in  sus- 
pense." 

"Nay,  ilPlonsieur  de  Blenau,  1  know  but  little/' 
answered  the  Duke.  "  All  my  nevvs  came  yester- 
day in  a  letter  from  St.  Germain,  whereby  I  find 
that  Mademoiselle  de  Beaumont  has  disappeared  ; 
and  as  no  one  knows  whither  she  is  gone,  and  no 
cause  is  apparent  for  her  voluntary  absense,  it  is 
conjectured  that  Richelieu,  finding,  as  it  is  whis- 
pered, that  she  endeavored  to  convey  intelligence 
to  you  in  the  Bastille,  has  caused  her  to  be  arrested 
and  confined  au  secret." 

''But  when  did  she  disappear  ? — Who  saw  her 
last  ? — Have  no  traces  been  discovered  ? — Why  do 
they  not  apply  to  the  king  ?"  exclaimed  De  Blenau, 
with  a  degree  of  agitation  that  afforded  amusement, 
-rather  than  excited  sympathy  in  the  frivolous  mind 
of  the  Duke  of  Orleans. 

"  Really,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,  to  none  of  all  youi* 
questions  can  I  at  all  reply,  answered  "Gaston. 
"  Very  possibly,  the  lady  may  have  gone  off  with 
some  fair  lover,  in  which  case  she  will  have  takea 
care  to  leave  no  traces  of  her  flight. — What  think 
you  of  the  weather  ? — will  it  rain  to-day?" 

"  Heil  and  fury  ?"  cried  De  Blenau,  incensed  at 
"the  weak  trifling  of  the  prince,  at  a  moment  when 
'^s  feelings  were  so  deeply  interested ;  and  turnin? 
fiis  horse  round  without  farther  adieu,  he  struck  his 
-ipurs  into  the  animal's  sides,  and,  followed  by  his 
■«tehdants,  galloped  off  towards  Moulins.  Arrived 
At  the   ch&teau  which  he  inhabited,   his  Ihouglfti 


126r  aiCHELIEU. 

were  still  in  such  a  troubled  state  a*  to  forbidair 
calm  consideration.  "Prepare  everything  to  set 
out.  Saddle  fresh  horses.  Send  to  Moulins  for  the 
proprietaire"  we  e  De  Blenau's  first  commands,  de- 
termined at  all  risks  to  set  out  for  St.  Gjrmain, 
and  seek  for  Pauline  himself.  But  while  his  orders 
were  in  train  of  execution,  reflection  came  to  his 
aid,  and  he  began  to  think  that  the  news  which  the 
duke  had  given  liim  might  not  be  true — that  Gas- 
ton might  either  be  deceived  himself,  or  that  he- 
jnight  have  invented  the  story  for  the  purpose  of 
forcing  him  into  a  conspiracy  against  Richelieu's 
government.  "  At  all  events,"  thought  he,  "  Hen- 
ry de  la  Mothe  cannot  be  longer  absent  than  to- 
morrow. I  may  miss  him  on  the  road,  and  thus 
be  four  days  without  information  instead  of  one  "'^ 
Accordingly,  after  some  farther  hesitation,  he  de- 
termined to  delay  his  journey  one  day,  and  coun- 
ter ordered  the  preparations  v/hich  he  had  before 
commanded.  Nevertheless,  his  mind  was  too 
much  agitated  to  permit  of  his  resting  inactive  f 
and  quitting  the  chateau,  he  walked  quickly  oa 
the  road  towards  Paris  ;  but  he  had  not  proceeded 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  league,  when  from  the: 
top  of  a  hill  lie  perceived  a  horseman  coming  full 
speed  towards  him.  At  first,  while  the  distance, 
rendered  his  form  altogether  indistinct,  De  Blenaa 
decided  that  it  was  Henry  de  la  Mothe — it  must  be 
— it  could  be  nobody  else,-  Then  again  he  began 
to  doubt — the  horse  did  not  look  like  his  ;  and  De 
Blenau  had  almost  determined  that  it  was  not  his 
page,  when  the  fluttering  scarf  of  blue  and  gold 
becoming  apparent,  decided  the  question,  and  he 
hurried  forward,  impatient  even  of  the  delay  which 
must  yet  intervene. 

The  page  rode  on  at  full  speed  ;  and  even"  from 
that  circumstance  De  Blenau  drew  an  unfavorable 
augury  :  he  had  something  evidently  to  communi- 
cate which  required  haste.  His  horse,  too,  was 
not  the  same  which  had  carried  him  away,  and  he 
must  haxe. changed  him  on  the  road  ;  this  too  was. 


Riciii:L!fc.y.  127 

a  siga  of  lliat  urgent  despatch  which  conld  alone 
proceed  from  some  painful  cause.  However,  the 
]:'Z'  cnine  rapidiy  forward,  recognised  his  lord,  and 
d:  iwing-  in  his  horse,  aligiited  to  give  relief  to  De 
Beuau  &  doubts,  only  by  contirming  his  fears. 

His  first  tidings  were  perfectly  similar  to  the 
informalion  wiiich  had  been  given  by  the  Duke  of 
Orleans  ;  but  the  more  minute  details  which  he 
had  obtained,  fi»rmi-ng  a  part  of  the  history  which 
],e  gave  De  Blerau  of  all  that  had  occurred  to  him 
on  liis  journey,  1  shall  take  the  liberty  of  ahrid>»ing 
myself,  instead  of  leaving  them  in  a  desultory  and 
l<jng-winded  condition  in  wr.ich  they  proceeded 
from  ti;e  mouth  of  Monsieur  de  la  Moth^. 

Setting  out  from  iVloulins  on  one  of  the  Count 
de  Blenau's  strongest  horses,  and  furnished  with 
plenty  of  that  patent  anti-attrition  composition, 
which  has  facilitated  the  progression  of  all  sorts  of 
people  in  all  ages  of  the  world,  and  in  all  stales  ex- 
cept Lycurgud  governed  Sparta- — namely  gold, 
Henry  da  la  Mothe  was  not  long  in  reaching  St. 
Germain  ;  and  with  all  the  promptitude  of  his  age 
and  nature,  he  hastened  eagerly  towards  the  palace, 
promising  himself  inSnite  pleasure  in  delivering  a 
genuine  love-letter  into  the  '"air  hands  of  Madem- 
oiselle Pauline.  No  small  air  of  consequence, 
therefoi'e,  did  he  assume  in  inquiring  for  Mademoi- 
selle de  Beaumont,  and  announcing  that  he  must 
speak  with  her  himself;  but  the  boyish  vivacity  of 
the  page  was  soon  changed  into  sorrowful  anxiety, 
when  the  old  servant  of  Anne  of  Austria,  to  whom 
his  inquiries  had  been  addressed,  informed  him  that 
the- young  lady  had  disappeared,  and  was  nowhere 
to  be  heard  of  Now  Henry  de  la  Mothe,  the  no- 
ble Count  de  Blenau's  gay  page,  was  an  universal 
favorite  at  St.  Germain  ;  so,  out  of  pure  kindness, 
and  without  the  least  inclination  in  the  world  to 
gossip,  the  old  servant  took  him  into  the  palace, 
and  after  treating  him  to  a  cup  of  old  St.  Vallier 
vime,  told  him  all  about  the  disappearance  of  Pau- 


128  ftlCaKlTEO- 

line,  which  ffermed  a  history  occupying  Exactly 
ofle  hour  and  ten  minutes  in  delivering. 

Among  other  interesting  particulars,  he  describ- 
ed to  the  page  how  he  himself  had  accompanied 
Mademoiselle  dc  Hauteford  and  Mademoiselle  de 
Beaumont  from  Chantilly  to  Paris,  for  the  purpose 
of  conveying  news  to  Monsieur  de  Blenau,  in  the 
Bastille  ;  and  how  that  night  he  followed  the  two 
young  ladies  as  far.  as  the  church  of  St.  Gervais, 
where  they  separated,  and  he  remained  at  the 
church  door,  while  Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford 
went  in  and  prayed  for  the  good  success  of  Pauline  j 
— and  further,  how  Mademoiselle  de  Hauteford  said 
all  the  prayers  she  knew,  and  composed  a  great 
many  new  ones  to  pass  the  time,  and  yet  no  Pau- 
line returned)  and  now  at  last  she  came  out  to 
know  what  the  devil  had  become  of  her  y— and  how 
he  told  her,  that  he  could  not  tell. 

He  then  went  on  to  describe  theif  search  for 
Pauline,  and  their  disappointment  and  distress  at 
not  finding  her,  and  the  insolence  of  a  lying  inn- 
keeper, who  lived  opposite  the  prison,  and  who 
assured  him  that  the  young  lady  was  safe,  for  th.it 
he  himself  had  delivered  her  from  peril  by  the 
valor  of  his  invincible  arm.  After  this,  he  took  up 
the  pathetic,  and  showed  forth  in  moving  terras  the 
agony  and  despair  of  Madame  de  Beaumont  on  first 
hearing  erf"  the  non-appearance  of  her  daughter  j 
and  then  commented  upon  the  extraordinary  in- 
sensibility that  she  had  since  shown.  "  For  after 
two  days/'  said  he,  "she  seemed  to  grow  quite 
satisfied,  and  to  forget  it  all,  the  cold-hearted  old 
cat:' 

"  'Tis  just  like  her,"  said  Henry  de  la  Mothe. — 
"  They  say,  when  her  husband  was  killed,  she  nev- 
er shed  a  tear.  But  mark  me,  Monsieur  Mathieu, 
she  shall  not  have  the  count's  letter.  As  mademoi- 
selle is  not  here,  Pll  take  it  back  to  him  unopened  : 
•o  have  a  care  not  to  tell  the  old  marquise  that  1 
have  been  here.  Before  I  go  back,  however,  I'll 
away  to  Paris,  to  gather  what  news  I  can.    That 


RICHELIEU.  129 

aubergisie  meant  something— I  know  him  well. 
'Tis  old  Jacques  Chatpillieur,  the  vivandier,  who 
•served  with  the  army  in  Roussillon,  when  I  was 
there  with  the  count. '^ 

"  Well,  well,  my  good  youth,  go  to  Paris  if  you 
please,"  replied  the  old  servant.  "  You'll  gain  n-o 
tidings  more  than  I  have  given  you. — Did  not  1 
make  all  sorts  of  inquiries  myself  ?  and  they  are 
not  likely  to  deceive  me,  I  wot.  Young  birds  think 
they  can  fly  before  they  can  peck ;  but  go,  go, — 
you'll  gain  no  more  than  what  1  have  told  you." 

Henry  de  la  Mothe  did  not  feel  very  well  assure 
ed  of  the  truth  of  this  last  position;  and  therefore, 
though  his  back  ached  with  a  four  days^  ride  as 
fast  as  he  could  go,  he  set  out  again  for  Paris, 
where  he  arrived  before  nightfall ;  and  entering  the 
city  by  the  port  St.  Antoine,  directed  his  course 
to  the  house  of  our  doughty  friend,  Jacques  Chat- 
pilleur,  where  he  was  instantly  acknowledged  as  an 
old  acquaintance  by  the  worthy  aubergiste,  and 
treated  with  suitable  distinction.  Althotrgh  every 
raoment  was  precious,  the  page  did  not  think  fit  to 
enter  upon  the  business  that  brought  him  till  the 
aubcrge  was  clear  of  intruders;  and  this  being  the 
hour  at  which  many  an  honest  burgess  of  the  good 
city  solaced  his  inward  man  with  boxidin  blanc  and 
Burgundy,  when  the  fati'gues  of  Ihfe  day  began  to 
cease,  Henry  de  la  Mothe  thought  he  might  as  well 
follow  the  same  agreeable  calling,  and  while  he 
was  at  Rome,  do  as  Romans  did. 

More  than  an  hour  pasSed  before  the  page  had 
an  opportunity  of  communicating  fully  with  the 
good  aubergiste ;  but  when  Jacques  Chatpilleur 
heard  that  the  lady  he  had  delivered  trom  the 
clutches  of  Letrames,  was  no  less  a  person  than 
Pauline,  only  daughter  and  heiress  of  the  late  cele- 
brated Marquis  Ue  Beaumont,  and  that,  notwith- 
standing his  assistance,  she  had  somehow  been  car- 
ried off  on  that  identical  night,  his  strange  wood- 
cocked-shaped  person  became  agitated  with  various 
•extraordinary  contortions,  proceeding  from  an  odd 


130  RICHEUED. 

mixture  of  pleasure  and  grief,  which  at  once  took 
possession  of  him,  and  contended  for  the  mastery. 

"  Mon  Dieu !"  cried  he,  "  to  think  that  it  was 
Mademoiselle  de  Beaumont,  and  that  s]:e  should  be 
Inst  after  all  I''  And  the  aubergiste  set  himself  to 
think  of  how  it  could  all  have  happened.  I'll  bet 
a  millic.n,"  cried  he  at  length,  starling  from  his- 
revery,  and  clapping  his  hands  together  with  a  con- 
cussion that  echoed  to  the  Bastiiie  itself — "I'll  bet 
a  million  tliat  it  was  that  great  gluttonous  rsorman 
vagabond,  who  on  that  very  night  e°l  me  up  a 
matelot  d'anguille  and  a  dind-e  piquee.  He  is  under- 
strapping  cut-throat  to  Master  Chavigni,  and  he 
has  never  been-  here  since. — He  has  carried  her 
off.  for  a  million  ;  and  taken  her  away  to  some 
prison  in  the  provinces,  all  for  trying  to  give  a  little 
news  to  the  good  count.  But  I'll  ferret  out  his 
route  for  you.  On  with  your  beaver  and  come 
with  me.  Marguerite,  look  to  the  doors  while  1 
am  absent.  1  know  where  the  scoundrel  lodged  j 
so  come  along  ;  and  we'll  soon  hear  more  of  him." 

So  saying,  the  landlord  of  the  Sanglier  Gourmand 
led  Henry  de  la  Mothe  forth  into  the  Rue  St. 
Antoine,  and  thence  through  the  several  turnings 
and  windings  by  which  the  Norman  had  carried 
Pauline  to  the  late  lodaings  of  Monsieur  Marte- 
ville.  Here  Jacques  Chatpilleur  summoned  all 
persons  in  the  house,  male  and  female,  lodger  and 
landlord,  to  give  a  full,  true,  and  particular  account 
of  all  they  knew,  believed,  or  suspected  concern- 
ing the  tall  Norman,  who  usually  dweh  there. 
And  such  was  the  tone  of  authority  which  he  used, 
and  the  frequency  of  his-  reference  to  Henry  de 
la  Mothe,  whom  he  always  specified  as  "  this  hon- 
orable youth,"  that  the  good  folks  instantly  trans- 
formed, in  their  own  imaginations,  the  page  of  the 
Count  de  Blenau  into  little  hss  than  the  valet  de 
chanibre  of  the  prime  minister,  and  consequently 
answered  all  questions  with  becoming  deference. 

The  sum  of  the  information  which  was  thus  ob- 
tained amounted  to  this,  that  on   the  evening  in 


RICHELIKU.        '  '  181 

qaeslion,  Monsieur  Marteville  had  brought  thither 
a  young  lady — whether  by  force  or  not.  no  one  could 
specify  ;  that  she  was  dressed  as  aLanguedoc  peas- 
ant, which  Monsieur  Chatpilleur  acknowledged  to 
be  the  disguise  Pauline  had  assumed  ;  and  that  the 
same  evening  he  had  carried  her  away  again  on 
horseback,  leading  her  steed  by  the  bridle  rein.  It 
further  appeared  that  the  Norman,  while  preparing 
to  set  out,  had  asked  a  great  many  questions  about 
Troyes  in  Champagne,  and  had  inquired  whether 
there  was  not  a  wood  extending  over  some  leagues 
near  Mesnil  St.  Loup  which^  was  reported  to  be 
infested  by  robbers.  From  all  this  the  inhabitants 
of  the  house  had  concluded  universally  that  his 
journey  was  destined  to  be  towards  Troyes,  and 
that  he  would  take  care  to  avoid  the  wood  of  Mes- 
nil St.  Loup. 

Henry  de  la  Mothe  now  fancied  that  he  had  the 
clew  completely  in  his  hands,  and  returning  with 
Jacques  Chatpilleur  to  his  auberge,  he  took  one 
night's  necessary  rest,  and  having  exchanged  his 
horse,  which  was  knocked  up  with  its  journey,,  he 
set  out  the  next  morning  on  his  return  to  Moulins. 

After  this  recital,  all  considerations  of  personal 
safety,  the  king's  commands  to  remain  in  Bourbon, 
the  enmity  of  the  cardinal,  and  the  warnings  of 
Chavigni,  vanished  from  the  mind  of  De  Blenau 
like  smoke  ;  and  returning  to  the  chateau,  he  order- 
ed his  horses  to  be  instantly.'prepared,  chose  ten  of 
his  most  resolute  servants  to  accompany  him,  order- 
ed Henry  de  la  Mothe  to  remain  till  he  had  recov- 
ered from  hiii  fatigues,  and  then  to  return  to  St. 
Germain,  and  tell  Madame  de  Beaumont  that  he 
would  send  her  news  of  her  daughter,  or  loose  hia 
life  in  the  search  ;  and  having  made  all  other  neces- 
sary arrangements,  he  took  his  departure  forTroyea 
without  a  consideration  of  the  consequences. 


132  «ICflM.ILO 

CHAPTER  XI. 

The  cbnttqiience  of  fishing  m  troubled  watdr. 

We  must  now  return  to  the  two  worthy  person- 
ages whom  we  left  jogging  on  towards  the  chateau 
of  St.  Loup,  taking  them  up  at  the  precise  place 
where  we  set  them  dow^n. 

"  Bon  gre  mal  gre  va  le  pritre  au  s4n^."  grumbled 
the  Korman.  "  Remember,  Madame  Louise,  I  take 
you  with  no  good  will  :  you  insist  upon  going  ;  so 
now  if  you  meet  with  any  thing  disagreeable,  it  ia 
your  own  fault,  ^mark  that,??ia  poide." 

"Vm  no  more  afraid  of  the  devil  than  yourself." 
answered  Louise,  pertly  ;  "  and  I  suppose  1  shall 
meet  with  no  one  worse  than  he  is."' 

"  You  may,"  replied  the  Norman  ;  "  but  come  on, 
it  gets  late,  and  we  have  no  time  to  spare." 

The  tone  of  Msrteville  was  not  very  encourag- 
ing 3  but  Louise  was  resolved  not  to  lose  sight  of 
her  husband,  and  being  by  nature  as  bold  as  a  lion, 
she  followed  on  without  fear.  True  it  is,  that  she 
did  not  know  the  whole  history  of  the  Socerer'a 
Grove,  or  perhaps  she  might  have  felt  some  of  those 
imaginary  tenors  from  which  hardly  a  bosom  in 
France  was  altog-ether  free  :  although  Louise,  bred 
up  by  Madame  de  Beaumont,  whose  strong  and 
masculine  mind  rejected  most  of  the  errors  of  that 
age,  had  perhaps  less  of  the  superstition  of  the 
day  than  any  other  person  of  her  own  class. 

The  first  approach  to  the  Sorcerer's  Grove  was 
any  thing  but  te-rifying.  The  road,  winding  gentlr 
down  the  slope  of  the  hill,  entered  the  forest  be- 
tween some  fine   tall  trees,  which   rising  out  of  a 


ttlUHELILH.  133 

tract  of  scanty  underwood  and  open  ground,  with 
considerable  spaces  between  each  of  the  boughs, 
afforded  plenty  of  room  for  the  rich  sun  to  pour  his 
rays  between,' and  to  checker  the  green  shadows  of 
the  wood  with  intervals  of  golden  light.  Every 
here  and  there,  also,  the  declining  sunbeams  caught 
upon  the  old  knotted  trunks,  and  on  the  angles  of 
the  broken  ground  on  either  side,  enlivening  the 
scene  without  taking  from  its  repose  3  and  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hill,  seen  through  the  arch  of  boughs 
which  canopied  the  way,  appeared  a  bright  mass  of 
sunshine,  wiih  a  glimpse  of  the  sky  beyond,  where 
a  larger  open  space  than  ordinary  gave  free  ac- 
cess to  the  day.  From  this  spot,  however,  the 
road,  entering  the  deeper  part  ot  the  wood,  took  a 
direction  towar-ds  the  old  chateau  ©f  St.  Loup  5  and 
here  the  trees,  growing  closer  together,  began  to 
shut  out  the  raysj  gloom  and  darkness  spread  over 
the  path,  and  the  rocks  rising  up  into  high  broken 
banks  on  each  side,  cut  off  even  the  scanty-light 
which  glided  between  the  thick  branches  above. 
At  the  same  time  the  whole  scenery  assumed,  a 
wilder  and  more  desolate  character,  and  the  wind- 
ings of  the  road  round  the  base  of  the  hill  prevented 
the  eye  from  catching  even  a  glimpse  ©f  the  pros- 
pect beyond. 

Here,  strewed  upon  the  path,  lay  great  masses  of 
green  mouldy  rock,  fallen  from  the  banks  on  eacli 
side,  evincing  plainly  how  seldom  the  foot  of  man 
traversed  its  solitude  ;  there  again  a  mundic  stream, 
blood-red,  flowed  across  and  tinged  ell  the  earth 
around  with  its  own-  unseemly  hu-e  ;  wliile  long 
brambles  and  creeping  shrubs,  dropping  with  chili 
dew,  grew  at  the  base  of  the  rocks  on  either  side, 
and  shooting  out  their  thorny  arms,  caught  the  feet 
of  the  horses  as  they  passed.  Tlie  deep  solitude, 
the  profound  silence,  the  shadow  of  the  overhang- 
ing woods,  and  the  sorribre  gloom  of  every  object 
around,  began  to  have  their  effect  'on  the  mind  of 
Louise,  and  notwilhstauding  hernative  boldness  of 
heart,  she  set  herself  to  conjure  up  moro  than  one 


134  RICHELIEU. 

unpleasing  vision.  Her  fears,  however,  were  mow 
of  the  living  than  the  dead  -,  and  liaving  now,  against 
her  nature,  iiept  silence  a  long  while,  out  of  re- 
spect to  the  angry  humor  of  her  dearly  beloved 
husband,  she  ventured  to  nssert  that  it  looked  quite 
a  place  for  robbers,  and  added  a  hope  that  they 
should  not  meet  any. 

''  Pardi !  1  hope  we  shall  !"  replied  the  Norman. 
■''Those  you  call  robbers  uTe  jbrl  honnetes  gc?j9  ; 
they  are  merely  gentlemen  from  the  wars,  as  I  am 
myself  :  soldiers  at  free  quarters,  who  have  ever 
had  a  right  prescriptive  to  levy  their  pay  with  their 
-own  hand.  I  beg  that  you  will  speak  respectfully 
of  them.'"' 

Louise  looked  at  her  husband  with  an  inquiring 
glance,  not  very  well  knowing  whether  to  take  hia 
speech  seriously,  or  merely  as  a  jest ;  but  there  was 
nothing  mirthlul  in  the  countenance  of  Monsieur 
Marteville  who,  out  of  humor  with  his  fair  lady  for 
persisting  to  accompany  him,  was  in  no  mood  for 
jesting.  At  this  moment  a  whistle  was  heard  in 
the  w.>od,  so  like  the  note  of  a  bird,  that  Louise 
was  deceived,  and  would  have  taken  no  further 
fjotice  of  the  sound,  had  not  htr  companion  appli- 
ed his  hand  to  his  lips  and  imitated  it  exactly. 

"  What  is  that  V  demanded  Louise,  upon  whose 
mind  a  thousand  undelined  suspicions  were  crow<l- 
ing  fast :  ''  What  noise  is  that  in  the  wood?"' 

"  It's  only  a  pivert,''  replied  the  JNcrman  with  a 
grim  smile,  in  the  effort  of  uhicli  the  scar  upon  his 
■lip  drew  the  corner  of  his  mouth  almost  into  his 
•eye. 

"A  divert  ."■  replied  Louise  :  "Tso,  no,  tliat  is 
not  the  cry  of  a  woodpecker — you  arc  cheating 
me." 

"Well,  you  will  see,''  replied  MarteriJle  ;  •'  I'll 
make  him  come  out."  So  saying,  he  repeated  the 
same  peculiar  whistle,  and  then  drawing  in  his  rein, 
shook  him.-elf  in  the  saddle,  loosened  his  sword  in 
4ha  sheath,  and  laid  liis  hand  on  one  of  his  holsters, 
as  a  man   who   prepares  for  a«   encounter,  of  the 


niCHELIEO.  135 

event  of  which  he  is  not  quite  certain  whether  it 
■will  be  for  peace  or  war. 

Plis  vvhistle  was  again  returred,  and  a  moment 
after  the  form  of  a  man  was  seen  protruding  itself 
through  the  trees  that  crowned  the  high  bank  un- 
der which  they  stood.  His  rusty  iron  morion,  his 
-still  rustier  cuirass,  his  weather-beaten  countenance 
and  dingy  apparel,  formed  altogether  an  appearance 
so  similar  to  the  trunks  of  the  tvnes  among  which 
he  stood,  that  he  w-ould  have  been  scarcely  distin- 
guishable, had  it  not  been  for  the  etfort  to  push  his 
way  through  the  lower  branches,  the  rustling  of 
which,  and  a  few  falling  stones  forced  over  ths 
edge  of  the  rock  at  his  approach,  drew  tiic  eye 
more  particularly  to  the  spot  where  he  np[,eared. 
In  his  hand  he  carried  a  firelock,  which,  by  a  natu- 
ral impulse,  was  pointed  at  the  JMoiman  the  mo- 
ment he  perceived  a  doublet  of  blue  velvet — as 
the  fowling-piece  of  a  sportsman  is  instinctively 
carried  to  his  shoulder,  on  the  rising  of  a  partridge 
^or  a  grouse.  But  Monsieur  Marteville  was  prepar- 
ed for  all  such  Circumstances  ;  and  drawing  the 
pistol  which  hung  at  his  saddle-bow,  and  which,  if 
one  might  judge  l)y  length,  would  carry  a  mile  at 
least,  he  pointed  directly  towards  the  rusty  gentle- 
man above  ^escribed,  crying  out,  "Eh  hien,  I' ami! 
Eh!  ben  !  Do  you  shoot  your  friends  like  wood- 
cocks ?  or  have  you  forgotten  me  1' 

"  Nom  de  Diexi  !'  cried  the  man  above  :  Je  vovs 
en  dcmande  mille  pardoneset  raiUe.  AJonsicur  le  Capl- 
iauie.  I'll  come  down  to  you  directly.  Ckristi  !  1 
had  nearly  given  you  a  ball !    But  I'll  come  down!" 

While  the  robber  was  putting  this  promise  in  ex- 
ecution, Marteville  whispered  a  few  words  of  con- 
eolation  to  Louise,  bidding  her  not  to  be  afraid, 
that  they  were  fort  honnetes  gens,  trh  aimables  to 
their  friends,  et  cetera;  but  seeing  that  his  words 
produced  no  effect,  and  that  the  unfortunate  girl, 
beginning  to  comprehend  the  nature  of  his  charac- 
ter, had  burst  into  tears  of  bitter  regret,  he  mutter- 
ed a  curse  or  two,  not  loud,  but  deep  ;  and  without 


136*  RtCHELItU. 

any  farther  effort  to  allay  her  fears,  sat  whistling 
on  his  horse,  till  the  robber,  half-sliding,  half-run- 
ning, managed  to  descend  from  the  eminence  on 
which  he  had  first  appeared. 

"  Eh  bien,  Callot."  said  Monsieur  Marteville  to 
his  former  companion;  "  how  goes  it  with  the 
troop  ?'■' 

'•  But  badly,"  replied  Callot  :  "What  with  one 
devilry  or  another,  we  have  but  half  a  dozen  left." 

"  And  where  is  Pierrepont  Le  Blanc  V  demand- 
ed the  jNorman  :  "  Could  not  he  keep  vou  togeth- 
er ?" 

"Oh!  we  have  sent  him  to  the  kingdom  of 
moles,  answered  the  robber,  twisting  his  face  into  a 
most  horrible  grin.  "  First  he  quarrelled  with  one, 
and  then  he  quarrelled  with  another  ;  and  then,  as 
he  was  captain,  and  had  the  purse,  he  bethought 
him  of  taking  himself  off  with  all  the  treasure.  But 
we  caught  him  on  the  road  ;  and  so,  as  I  have  said, 
we  sent  the  bucanier  en  an  embassy  to  the  king- 
dom of  moles.  After  that,  there  were  two  of  us 
shot  near  Epernay,  by  a  party  of  the  guard  ;  and 
then  six  more  went  to  see  what  could  be  gathered 
upon  the  road  to  Perpignan,  and  one  was  taken  and 
hanged  at  Troves  ;  so  that  there  are  but  myself  and 
five  others  of  the  old  band  left.'-' 

"  And  quite  enough  too,  if  you  had  a  bold  lead- 
er,*' replied  the  JNorman.  "  But  where  do  vou 
roost,  mesjolis  oiseaiur  ?" 

'•  JNo,  no  ;  we  db  not  perch  now,"  answered  the 
robber  J  -'we  go  to  earth.  .Under  tae  old  castle 
here,  are  the  most  beautiful  vaults  in  the  world  ; 
and  I  defy  Beelzebub  himself  to  nose  us,  when  we 
are  hidden  there.'" 

'•  But  why  not  take  to  the  chateau  itself  ?  Is  it 
so  fhr  decayed  ?" 

"  INay,'  replied  the  other, ''  for  that  matter,  it  is 
as  good  a  nest  as  any  one  would  wish  to  house  in  : 
but  it  is  not  quite  so  forsaken  as  folks  think.  We 
did  put  up  there  at  first  \  but  one  night,  while  all 
our  party   were  out  hul  three— being  xnyBelf  and 


KIGHtLIEU  i'37 

two  others  m^lio  staid — we  hetird  suddenly  ihe  sound 
of  horses,  and  looking  out,  we  saw  by  the  twilight 
five  stout  cavaliers  dismount  in  the  court  ;  and  up 
they  marched  to  the  very  room  where  we  were  sit- 
ting, so  that  we  had  scarce  time  te  bundle  up  our 
things  and  to  cover.  And  there  they  sat  foi-  four 
good  hours  3  while  we  were  shut  Up  in  the  little 
watch-tower  next  to  them,  with  no  way  to  get  out, 
and  no  pov/der  but  what  was  in  our  cabines,  or 
may  hap  wc  should  have  given  them  a  dose  or  two 
of  leaden  pills,  for  at  first  v-e  thought  they  were  on 
the  look-out  for  our  band.  But  presently  after, 
up  came  another,  and  tiien  tiiey  all  set  to,  to  talk 
high-treason.  I  could  not  well  hear,  for  the  door 
was  so  lliick,  and  we  dred  not  move;  but  I  know 
thev  spoke  of  a  treaty  with  Spain,  and  bringing  in 
Spanish  troops  into  France.  Since  then,  we  have 
kept  to  iho  vaults,  for  fear  of  being  nosed." 

"Well,  Louise,"  -.vhispercd  the  Norman,  turning 
to  the  ?.cnihreUe,  "  you  see  i  did  not  come  here  for 
no  purpose.  It  is  this  treaty  with  Spain  I  want  to 
find  out  3  and  if  1  do,  our  fortune  is  made  for  ever, 
and  you  will  eat  off  gold,  and  drink  out  of  gold,  and 
be  as  happy  as  a  princess  !"' 

The  prospects  v.liich  her  husband  held  out,  and 
which  miglit  certainly  be  called  goldj^n,  were  not 
without  tlieir  effect  on  Louise  :  but  still  his  evi- 
dc.it  faraiiiarity  witli  the  gentleman  in  the  rusty 
steel  cnat  did  not  at  all  suit  lier  ideas  of  propriety, 
nor  were  the  matters  which  they' discussed  in  the 
least  to  her  tastP. ;  but  as  remonstrance  was  in  vain, 
and  she  began  to  perceive  that  the  influence  of  her 
tears  was  not  very  great,  she  resigned  herself  to 
her  fate  in  silence. 

Several  more  questions  and  replies  passed  be- 
tween the  IS'orman  and  hisanc'icnt  comrade,  whiclj, 
as  thcvlond  to  thiow  no  light  upon  this  history, 
shall  not  find  a  place  therein.  At  length  Monsieur 
Calint,  in  as  hospitable  and  coiutly  a  strain  as  he 
could  assume,  requested  the  {)!casure  of  Monsieur 

vol.    11.  10 


138  RICHELIEU. 

Marteville's  company  to  spend  the  evening  in  the 
vaults  of  the  old  chateau,  if  he  had  not  grown  too 
fine,  by  living  anaong  the  great,  to  associate  with  hia 
old  friends.  In  return  for  this,  the  worthy  JSor- 
man  assured  him,  that  he  never  was  so  happy  as 
when  he  was  in  their  society,  accepted  the  invita- 
tion with  pleasure,  and  begged  to  introduce  his 
wife.  Callot  would  fain  have  offered  his  salute  to 
the  lips  of  the  fair  lady,  and  had  mounted  on  a 
huge  stone  beside  her  horse  for  that  purpose  3  but 
Louise  repulsed  him  with  the  dignity  of  a  duchess, 
and  Callot  did  not  press  the  matter  further,  mere- 
ly giving  a  shrewd  wink  of  the  eye  and  screw  of  the 
under-jaw,  as  much  as  to  say , "  she's  nice,  it  seems," 
and  then  led  the  way  towards  the  present  abode  of 
Marteville's  old  band. 

The  road  which  he  took  wound  through  the  very 
depth  of  the  wood  towards  that  side  ofthe  hill  which, 
looking  over  the  wide  extent  of  forest-ground  lyi:  g 
between  the  old  castle  and  the  hig^  road  to  Troyes 
seemed  to  offer  nothing  but  dark  inaccessible  preci' 
pices,  from  the  shallow  stream  that  ran  bubbling  a' 
Its  base  to  the  walls  of  the  ruin  above.  Crossing 
the  rivulet,  however,  which  did-not  rise  higher  tnan 
the  horses'  knees,  the  robber  led  the  way  round  a 
projecting  mass  of  rocks,  that  seemed  to  have  been 
forcibly  riverr  from  the  rest,  and  which,  though  it 
left  space  enough  for  the  horses  to  turn,  would  have 
effectually  concealed  them  from  the  sight  of  any 
one  who  might  be  in  the  wood. 

The  two  sides  of  the  hill  next  to  the  village  of 
Mesnil,  and  the  ridge  of  rising  ground  on  which  it 
was  situ.ated,  sloped  easily  into  the  valleys  around, 
and  were  covered  willi  a  rich  and  glowing  vegeta- 
tion 3  but  on  tlie  northern  as  well  as  the  western 
side,  which  the  i^ornian  and  Lis  companions  now 
approached,  the  rock  offered  a  very  (iiffereutcliarac- 
ter,  and  one,  indeed,  extremely  rare  in  ti  at  part  f-f 
the  country. 

Wherever  the  eye  turned,  nothing  presented  it- 
self but  flat  surfaces  of  cold   gray   stone,   with   the 


tltCHELIEU.  1  39 

deep  markings  of  the  rifts  and  hollows  wiiich  separ- 
ated them  from  each  other.  Occasionally,  indeed, 
a  patch  of  thin  vegetable  earth,  accumulathig  on 
any  point  that  offered  the  means  of  support,  yielded 
a  slight  gleam  of  verdue,  so  poor  in  hue,  and  so 
limited  in  extent,  that  it  seemed  alone  to  rival  the 
lichens  and  stains  of  the  rocks  around,  and  to  serve 
but  as  a  mockery  of  the  naked  crag  that  bore  it. 
Here  and  there  too,  a  black  antique  pine  fixing  its 
sturdy  roots  in  the  Weakest  pinnacles,  would  be 
seen  to  start  boldly  out,  as  if  to  brave  the  tempests, 
that,  sweeping  over  the  oaks  in  the  forest  below, 
spent  their  full  fury  on  its  more  ambitious  head. 
The  principle  objects,  however,  that  attracted  at' 
tention  were  the  multitude  of  deep  fissures  and 
hollows  which  presented  themselves  at  every 
point,  and  the  immense  blocks  of  stone  which,  scat- 
tered about  round  the  base  of  the  rock,  offered 
plentiful  means  of  concealment  to  any  one  who 
might  there  seek  to  baffle  a  pursuer. 

Turning,  as  we  have  said,  round  the  base  of  one 
of  these  large  masses,  the  robber  uttered  three  loud 
whistles,  to  give  notice  that  it  was  a  friend  approach- 
ed ;  and  immediately  after,  from  a  cavern,  the 
mouth  of  which  was  concealed  in  one  ot  the  fissures 
above-mentioned,  came  forth  two  figures,  whose 
wild  apparel  corresponded  t'ery  well  with  that  of 
their  companion. 

"Morbleu!  Monsieur  MarlevilleP'  cried  one  of 
them,  the  moment  he'recognised  the  Norman,  "  est 
ce  vous  1  Soyez  le  bien  venu !  Come  at^  a  lucky 
moment  for  some  of  the  beat  wine  of  Bonne  !  The 
Gros  St.  Nicolas — you  remember  our  old  com- 
panion— he  has  just  returned  from  the  Chemin  de 
Troyes,  where  he  met  two  charitable  monks,  who, 
out  of  pure  benevolence,  bestowed  upon  him  three 
panniers  of  good  wine  and  twelve  broad  pieces  ; 
though  they  threatened  to  excommunicate  him,  and 
the  two  who  were  with  him,  for  holding  steel  pon- 
iards to    their  throats  while   they  did   their    alms. 


140  RICHELIEU. 

However,  you  are  heartily  welcome,  and  the  moi-er 
BO  if  you  are  come  to  stay  with  ns." 

"  VVe  will  talk  of  that  presently,"'  said  the  JSor- 
man.  "  But  in  the  first  place,  good  friends,  tell  me, 
can  one  get  up  to  the  castle  above,  which,  Callot 
says,  is  habitable  yet  ?  for  here  is  my  wife,  who  io 
not  much  used  to  dwell  in  vaults,  and  may  like  a 
lodging  above  ground  belter." 

"  Oh,  certainly  '  Madame  shall  be  accommodat- 
ed," said  the  last  speaker,  who  seemed  to  be  more 
civilized  than  good  Monsieur  Callot.  "  Our  own 
dwelling  is  well  enough  3  but  if  she  please,  I  will 
show  you  up  the  staircase  whi<:h  leads  from  the 
vaults  to  the  court  above.  However,  I  hope,  she 
will  stay  to  partake  ofoursupper,  which  is  now  be- 
fore the  fire,  as  you  shall  see,'" 

"  She  shall  come  down  again,'"  .''aiii  the  Norman, 
dismounting,  and  lifting  Louise  out  of  the  saddle, 
''  and  will  thank  you  for  your  good  cheer,  for  we 
have  ridden  far."  So  saying,  he  followed  into  the 
cave,  which  at  first  presented  nothing  but  the  natural 
ruggedness  of  the  rock  ;  but  at  that  spot  where  the 
daylight  began  to  lose  its  effect  in  the  increasing 
darkness  of  the  cavern,  one  might  perceive,  though 
with  difiiculty,  that  it  assumed  tlie  form  of  a  regular 
arch  cased  with  masonry ;  and  in  a  moment  or  two, 
as  they  preceded  groping  their  way  after  the  robber, 
they  were  warned  that  there  were  steps  :  mounting 
these,  and  turning  to  the  left,  they  discerned,  at  a 
little  distance  in  advance,  a  bright  red  light  stream- 
ing from  behind  a  projecting  angle,^  which  itself 
remained  in  utter  obscurity.  The  robber  here  went 
on  first,  and  they  heard  him  announce  in  a  loud  and 
jocular  tone,  "  Li  Sicur  Marteville,  et  Madame  sa 
femme  .'''  with  as  much  ceremony  as  if  he  had  been 
heralding  th-^m  into  the  presence  of  royalty. 

"  Bah  '.  vons  plaisantez  .'"'cried  a  thick  merry  voice, 
seeming  as  if  it  issued  from  the  midst  of  stewed 
prunes.  But  the  Norman  sdvancing,  bore  evidence 
of  the  truth  of  the  other's  annunciation,  and  was 
instantly  caught  in  the  arms  of  the  Gros   St,    Nic- 


ItlCHELlEU.  t4l 

«la3,  as  he  was  called ;  who  merited,  at  least,  the 
appellation  of  gros,  though  with  the  sanctity  he  ap- 
peared to  have  but  little  to  do.  He  was  fat,  short, 
and  protuberant,  with  a  face  as  round  [as  the  full 
moon,  and  as  rosy  as  a  piony.  In  fact,  he  seemed 
much  better  fitted  for  a  burgess  or  a  priest,  an  inn- 
keeper or  an  alderman,  than  for  the  thin  and  meaner 
t^ade  of  a  cut-purse,  which  seldom  leaves  anything 
but  bones  to  be  hanged  at  last.  However,  be  bore 
him  joUily  j  and,  when  the  party  entered,  was,  with 
morion  and  breast-plate  thrown  aside,  engaged  in 
basting  a  large  quarter  of  venison,  which  smoked 
before  a  stupendous  fire,  whose  blaze  illuminated  all 
the  wide  vault,  which  formed  their  salle  a  manger 
and  kitchen  both  in  one. 

"  Est-il possible?'^  cried  the  Gros  St.  Nicolas,  em- 
bracing our  Norman,  whose  companion  he  had  been 
for  many  years  both  in  honorable  and  dishonorable 
trades  ; — ''  Mon  ami  !  Mon  Capitain  !  Mon  Brave  ! 
Mon  Prince  !  Enjin,  mon  Noi-man'" 

Quitting  the  eostacies  of  the  Gros  St.  Nicholas 
at  meeting  once  more  with  his  friend,  and  the  for- 
malities of  his  introduction  to  Louise,we  shall  only 
say  that,  according  to  the  request  of  the  Norman, 
one  of  the  freebooters  led  the  way  up  a  circular 
staircase  in  the  rock,  which  soon  brought  them  into 
the  open  air,  through  a  small  arch  entering  upon 
the  court  of  the  old  castle.  Here  Marteville,  hav- 
ing marked  all  the  peculiar  turns  which  they  had 
taken,  with  the  accuracy  which  his  former  life  had 
taught,  bade  good  day  to  their  guide,  promising  to 

j  rejoin  the  party  below  by  the  time  the  v«nison  was 
roasted  ;  and  finding  that  more  than  an  hour  of  day- 

I  light  yet  remained,  he  proceeded   with   Louise    to 

'  explore  the  remains  of  the  chateau. 

The  little  attentions  he  had  lately  paid,  had  great- 
ly conciliated  his  fair  lady  ;  and  though  still  some- 
what disposed  to  pout,  she  suffered  him  to  explain 
his  views  with  a  tolerable  degree  of  placability. — 
"  You  must  know,  ma  charmante  Louise,"  said  he, 
''  that  there  is  a  tremendous  plot  going  on  against 


142  RICHELIEtJ. 

the  government ;  and  that  Monsieur  de  Chavigni 
has  intrusted  rae  to  discover  it.  You  heard  what 
Callot  said,  concerning  a  treaty  with  Spain  Now 
I  have  always  understood,  that  when  these  secret 
treaties  areformed,  a  copy  is  deposited  in  some  un- 
inhabited place  for  greater  security.  You  see,  I 
have  traced  Fontrailles  to  this  castle,  and  it  is  evi- 
dent that  here  he  met  the  other  conspirators  :  now 
where,  then,  can  they  have  secreted  the  treaty  but 
somewhere  about  here  ?  So  now,  Louise,  help  me 
to  find  this  paper,  if  it  is  to  be  found  5  and  then  we 
will  soon  quit  these  men,  of  whom  you  seem  so 
much  afraid,  and  go  and  live  like  princes  on  the  for- 
tune that  Chavigni  has  promised." 

To  this  long  speech  of  her  husband,  which  he  ac- 
companied with  sundry  little  carresses,  Louise  re- 
plied, in  a  tone  half  sulky,  that  she  was  ready  to 
seek  the  paper,  but  she  did  not  see  how  they  could 
find  it,  with  nothing  to  guide  them  in  their  search. 
But  nevertheless,  when  they  did  seriously  bogir> 
their  perquisitions,  she  displayed  all  that  sagacity  in 
discovering  a  secret  which  women  instinctively 
possess.  Of  course,  the  first  place  to  which  they 
particularly  directed  their  inquiries  was  the  cham- 
ber in  which,  according  to  the  account  of  Callot^ 
the  meeting  of  the  coBspirators  had  been  held. 

Here  they  looked  in  every  nook  and  corner,  turn- 
ed over  every  heap  of  rubbish,  examined  the  chairs 
and  the  table  of  old  Pere  Le  Ronge.and  having  gone 
over  every  inch  of  the  apartment,  began  anew  and 
went  over  it  all  again.  At  length  Louise,  seeming- 
ly tired  of  her  search  in  that  chamber,  left  her  hus- 
band to  pursue  it  as  he  pleased,  and  sitting  down  in 
one  of  the  settles,  began  to  hum  a  Languedoc  air, 
beating'time  with  her  fingers  on  the  table. 

"  Pardi.'"  cried  the  J>sorman,  after  having  hunted 
for  some  time  in  vain :  "  it  is  not  here,  that  is  cer- 
tain !'■ 

"  Yee,  it  is  .'"  said  Louise,  very  quietly  continu- 
ing to  beat  time  on  the  table  ;  "  it  is  in  this  very 
room." 


lUCHELIEU.  143 

"  Nom  de  Dieu!  where  is  it  then  V  cried  Mon- 
sieur Marteville. 

"  It  is  here,  in  the  inside  of  this  hollow  piece  of 
wood,"  answered  Louise,  tapping  the  table  with  her 
knuckles,  which  produced  that  sort  of  empty  echo- 
ing sound  that  evinced  it  was  not  so  solid  as  it  ap- 
peared. 

The  Norman  now  approached,  and  soon  convinc- 
ing himself  that  Louise  wus  right,  he  took  her  in 
his  arms  and  gave  her  a  kiss  that  made  the  ruin  echo. 
The  next  thing  was  to  get  into  the  drawer,  or 
I  whatsoever  it  was,  that  occupied  the  interior  of  the 
I  table  :  but  this  not  proving  very  easy,  the  impatient 
j  Norman  set  it  upright  on  one  end,  and  drawing  his 
sword,  soon  contrived  to  cleave  it  through  the  mid- 
dle ;  when,  to  the  delight  of  the  eyes   that  looked 
!  upon  it,  appeared  a  large  cavity  neatly   wrought  in 
the  wood,  containing  a  packet  of  vellum  folded  and 
sealed  at  the  corners  in  blue  and   yellow  wax,  with 
neat  pieces  of  floss-silk  to  keep  it  all  together.  The 
Norman  could  have  eaten  it  up ;  and   Louise,  with 
a  degree  of  impatient  curiosity  peculiarly  her  own, 
was  already  fingering  one  of   the  seals,  about  to 
break  it  open,  when  Marteville  stopped  her  with  a 
tremendous  oath.    "  What  are  you  going  to  do  V* 
cried  he  :  ''you  know  little  what  it  is  to  pry  into 
state  secrets.     If  you  had  opened  that  seal,  instead 
of  having  perhaps  a  reward  of   twenty  thousand 
crowns,  we  should  have  both  been  sent  to  the  Bas- 
i  tille  for  the  rest  of  our  lives."    Louise  dropped  the 
I  packet  in  dismay  ;  and  the  Norman  continued,  "Did 
!  you  never  hear  of  the  Abb6  de  Langy,  who,  hap- 
pening to  be  left  by  Monsieur  de   Richelieu   in   his 
private  cabinet  only   for  five   minutes,   with   some 
state  papers  on  the  table,  was  sent  to  the  Bastille 
for  twelve  years,  merely  for  fear  he  had  read  them? 
No,  no  ;  this  must  go  to  Monsieur  Chavigni  without 
j  so  much  as  cracking  the  wax." 

"  Could  not  we  just  look  in  at  the  end  V  demand- 
ed Louise,  looking  wistfully  at  the  packet,  which 
her  husband  had  now  picked  up.    But  upon  this  he 


144  RICHELIEU. 

put  a  decided  negative  ;  and  having  now  succeeded 

to  his  heart's  content,  the  burly  N  rman,  in  the  ex- 
uberance of  his  joy,  began  singing  and  capering  till 
the  old  pile  both  echoed  ard  shook  with  his  gigan- 
tic gambols.  '^•Ma  Louise,"  cried  he  at  length,  "vous 
etes  fatigi'k.  Je  vais  voiis  porter  ;"  and  catching 
her  up  in  his  arms,  notwithstanding  all  remonstran- 
ces, he  carried  her  like  a  feather  into  the  court-yard, 
through  the  narrow  arch,  and  threading  all  the  in- 
tricacies of  the  vaults  with  the  same  sagacious  fa- 
cility with  which  a  ferret  glides  through  the  wind- 
ings of  a  warren,  he  bore  her  safely  and  in  triumph 
into  the  salle  a  manger  of  the  honorable  fraternity 
below.  This  was  not  the  mode  of  progression  which 
Louise  most  admired,  nor  was  she  very  much  grati- 
fiel  at  beiug  exhibited  to  her  husbands  old  friends 
in  so  ungraceful  an  attitude;  and  the  consequences, 
of  course,  were,  that  she  would  willingly  have  torn 
his  eyes  out  had  she  dared. 

However,  Monsieur  Callot,  Le  Gros  St.  Nicolas, 
and  others, applied  them-sehes  successively  to  sooth 
her  rufiied  spirits  3  and  the  venison  being  ready  .and 
a  lon^  table  laid,  each  person  drew  forth  their  knife, 
and  soon  committed  inlinite  havoc  on  the  plump 
haunch  which  was  placed  before  tliem.  The  wine 
succeeded,  and  then  that  water  of  life  which  very 
often  ends  in  death.  All  was  hilarity  and  mirth, 
song,  jest,  and  laughter.  Gradually,  one  barrier  after 
another  fell,  as  cup  succeeded  cup.  Each  one  told 
his  own  story,  without  regard  to  the  rest ;  each  one 
sang  his  own  song;  each  one  cracked  his  own  joke. 
Louise  had  retired  to  a  settle  by  the  side  of  the  fire, 
but  still  mingled  in  the^conversation,  when  it  could 
be  called  such  ;  and  Monsieur  Callot.somew hat  full 
of  wine,  and  a  good  deal  smitten  with  her  charms, 
plied  her  with  assiduities  rather  more  perhaps  than 
was  necessary.  In  the  the  meantime,  the  Gros  St. 
Nic'las,  running  over  with  brandy  and  good  spirits, 
kept  jesting  the  Xorman  upon  some  passages  of  his 
former  life,  which  might  as  well  have  been  passed 
over  and  forgotten.  "  Madame  \"  cried  he  at  length . 


RlCHELItU.  145 

turning  round  towards  Louise,  with  an  overflowing 
goblet,  in  his  hand,  and  his  broad  face  full  of  glee, 
"  I  have  the  honor  of  drinking  to  your  health,  as  the 
tifth  spouse  of  our  good  friend  Monsieur  de  Marte- 
ville  ;  and  let  me  assure  you,  that  ol  the  three  that 
are  living  and  the  two  that  are  dead,  \oa  are  the 
most  beautiful  beyond  compare  .'" 

Up  started  Louise  in  an  agony  of  indignation, and 
forth  she  poured  upon  the  (aros  St.  JVicolas  a  tor- 
rent of  vituperation  for  jesting  upon  such  a  subject. 
But  on  his  part  he  only  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
declared  that  he  did  not  jest  at  all.  "  Mon  Dieu  .'" 
said  he.  ''it  is  very  unreasonable  to  suppose  that 
Monsieur  Marteville,  who  is  as  big  as  live  men, 
should  be  contented  vvith  one  wife.  Besides,  it  is 
ires  agreable  lo  have  a  wife  in  every  province  :  J  al- 
ways do  so  myself." 

The  thunder  of  Louise's  ire,  now  increased  in  a 
seven-fold  degree,  was  turned  instantly  upon  her 
dearly  beloved  husband.  Her  eyes  flashed  and  her 
cheek  flamed,  and  approaching  him,  where  he  sat 
laughing  at  the  whole  business,  she  demanded  that 
he  should  exculpate  himself  from  this  charge  ofpen- 
tigamy,with  a  tone  and  manner  that  made  the  INor- 
man,  who  had  drunk  quite  enough,  laugh  still  more. 
With  an  unheard-of  e.'jertion  of  self-command, 
Louise  kept  her  fingers  from  his  face  :  she  burst 
fnrth  into  reproaches  so  bitter  and  stinging,  that 
Marteville's  mirth  was  soon  converted  info,'  rage, 
and  he  looked  at  her  with  a  glance  which  would 
quickly  have  taught  those  woo  knew  him  well  not 
to  urge  him  further.  But  Louise  went  on,  and 
wound  up  by  declaring,  that  she  would  live  with 
him  no  longer — that  she  would  quit  him-  that  very 
moment,  and  finding  her  way  to  Monsieur  Chavigni, 
would  tell  him  all — adding  that  she  would  soon  send 
the  guard  lo  ferret  out  that  nest  of  ruffians,and  tha* 
Bhe  hoped  to  see  him  hanging  at  the  head  of  them. 
With  this  expression  of  her  intentions,  Louise  dart' 
ed  out  of  the  vault  j  but  the  JNorman,  who,  speech- 
less with  rage,had  sat  listeping  to  her  with  his  teeth 


146  RICliELlEU. 

clenched.and  his  nether  lip  quivering  with  suppres- 
sed passion,  started  suddenly  up.cast  the  settle  from 
him  with  such  force  that  it  was  dashed  to  pieces 
against  the  wall,  and  strode  after  her  with  the  awful 
cloud  of  determined  wrath  settled  upon  his  brow. 

The  mirth  of  the  robbers,  who  knew  the  ungoy- 
ernable  nature  of  their  companion's  passion,  was 
now  over,  and  each  looked  in  the  face  of  the  oth- 
er with  silent  expectation.  After  a  space,  there 
was  the  murmur  of  angry  voices  heard  for  a  moment 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  passage  j  then  a  loud  pierc- 
ing shriek  rang  through  the  vault ;  and  then  all  was 
silence.  A  momentary  sensation  of  horror  ran 
through  the  bosoms  of  even  the  ferocious  men 
whose  habits  rendered  them  familiar  with  almost 
every  species  of  bloodshed.  But  this  was  new  and 
strange  among  them,  and  they  waited  the  return  of 
the  Gorman  with  feelings  near  akin  to  awe. 

At  length,  after  some  time,  he  came  with  a  firm 
step  and  unblenching  brow,  but  with  a  haggard 
wildness  in  his  eye  whieh  seemed  to  tell  that  re- 
morse was  busy  with  his  heart.  However,  he  sat 
him  down  without  any  allusion  to  the  past,  and 
draining  off  a  cup  of  ^^^ne,  strove  laboriously  after 
merriment.  But  it  was  in  vain  ;  the  mirth 'of  the 
whole  party  was  evidently  forced  ;  and  Marteville 
soon  took  up  another  strain,  which  accorded  better 
with  the  feelings  of  the  moment.  He  spoke  to  them 
of  the  dispersion  of  the  band,  which  had  taken 
place  since  he  left  them  5  announced  his  Intention 
of  joining  them  again  5  and  drawing  forth  a  purse 
containing  about  a  thousand  livres,  he  poured  them 
forth  upon  the  table,  declaring  them  to  be  his  first 
offering  to  the  treasury. 

This  ma^ificent  donation,  which  came  in  aid  of 
their  finances  at  a  moment  when  such  a  recruit  was 
very  n^essary,  called  forth  loud  shouts  of  applause 
from  the  freemen  of  the  forest  ;  and  the  Gros  St, 
Nicolas  starting  up,  addressod  the  company  much 
to  the  following  effect  :  ''  Messieurs — every  one 
knows  that  I  am  St.  Nicolas,  and  no  one  will  deny 


RICHELIBU*  147 

that  I  am  surrounded  by  a  number  of  goodly  clerks. 
But  although  in  my  saintly  character,  1  will  give 
up  my  clerical  superiority  to  nobody  5  yet  it  appears 
to  me,  that  our  society  requires  some  lay  command- 
er 5  therefore  I,  your  bishop,  do  propose  to  you  to 
elect  and  choose  the  Sieur  Marteville,  here  present, 
to  be  our  king,  and  captain  in  the  wars,  in  room  of 
the  Sieur  Pierrepont  Le  Blanc,  who,  having  abdi- 
cated without  cause,  was  committed  to  the  custo- 
dy of  the  great  receiver-general — the  earth,  by  war- 
rant of  cold  iron  and  pistol-balls.  What  say  ye, 
Messieurs,  shall  he  be  elected  1" 

A  shout  of  approbation  was  the  reply  ;  and  Mar- 
teville, having  been  duly  elected,  took  the  oaths, 
and  received  the  homage  of  his  new  subjects.  He 
then  entered  into  a  variety  of  plans  for  increasing 
the  band,  concentrating  its  operations,  and  once 
more  rendering  it  that  formidable  body  which  it 
had  been  in  former  times.  All  this  met  with  the 
highest  approbation  j  but  the  captain  showing  the 
most  marked  dislike  to  remaining  in  the  forest 
which  they  at  present  tenanted,  and  producing  a 
variety  of  reasons  for  moving  their  quarters  to  Lan- 
guedoc,  where  the  neighborhood  of  the  court  and 
the  army  offered  greater  facilities  both  for  recruit- 
ing their  numbers  and  their  purses;  it  was  agreed 
that  they  should  disperse  the  next  morning,  and 
reassemble  as  soon  as  possible,  at  a  certain  spot 
%vell  known  to  the  whole  party,  about  forty  leagues 
distant  from  Lyons. 

This  was  happily  effected  ;  and  the  Norman,  on 
presenting  himself  at  the  rendezvous,  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  introducing  to  the  band  two  new  associates, 
whom  he  had  found  the  means  of  converting  on 
the  road. 

Although  abandoning  himself  heart  and  soul  to 
the  pleasures  of  his  resumed  profession,  our  friend 
Marteville  was  not  forgetful  of  the  reward  he  ex- 
pected from  Chavigni ;  and  as  his  official  duties 
prevented  his  being  himself  the  bearer  of  the  paper 
he  had  obtained,    he  despatched  it  to  Narbonne, 


148  RICHELieC 

where  the  statesman  now  \'  as,  by  hig  faithful  sub- 
ject Callot.  with  orders  to  demand  ten  thousand 
crowns  of  Monsieur  de  Chavigni,  as  a  reward  for 
having  discovered  it,  adding  also  an  elaborate  epis- 
tle to  the  same  effect. 

The  Xorman  never  for  a  moment  entertained  a 
suspicion  that  the  paper  he  sent  was  any  thing  but 
the  identical  treaty  with  Spain,  which  the  conspira- 
tors had  been  heard  to  mention  ;  and  he  doubted 
not  that  the  statesman  would  willingly  pay  such  a 
sum  for  so  precious  a  document.  But  the  embassy 
of  Monsieur  Callot  did  not  prave  so  fortunate  as 
had  been  anticipated.  Presenting  himself  to  Cha- 
vigni, with  as  much  importance  of  aspect  as  the  am- 
bassador from  Sia<n,  he  tendered  his  credentials, 
and  demanded  the  reward,  at  a  moment  when  the 
statesman  was  irritated  by  a  thousand  anxieties  and 
dangers. 

Making  no  ceremony  with  the  fine  blue  and  yel- 
low wax,  Chavigni,  having  read  the  Norman's  epis- 
tle, soon  found  his  vvay  into  the  inside  of  the  other 
packet,  and  beheld  in  the  midst  of  a  thousand  signs 
and  figures,  unintelligible  to  any  but  a  professed 
astrologer,  a  prophetic  scroll  containing  some  dog- 
grel  verses,  which  may  be  thus  rendered  into  Eng. 
lish  :— 

THE   FATE   OF   RICHELIEU. 

Bom  beneath  two  mighty  stars. 
Mercury  with  Mars  combined, 

He  shall  prompt  a  thousand  wars, 
Nor  live  the  balm  of  peace  to  find. 

Less  than  a  king,  yet  kings  shall  fall 
And  tremble  at  his  fatal  sway  5 

Yet  at  life's  end  he  shall  recall 
The  memory  of  no  happy  day. 

And  the  last  year  that  he  shall  know, 
Shall  see  him  fall,  and  see  him  rise; 


RtCHhlLlEO.  149 

Shall  see  him  yield,  yet  slay  his  foe^ 
And  scarcely  triumph  ere  he  dies. 

Begot  in  factions,  nursed  in  strife, 
Till  all  his  troubled  years  be  past, 

Cunning  and  care  eat  up  his  life, 
A  slave  and  tyrant  first  and  last. 

Perk  Le  Rouge. 

Chavigni  gazed  at  the  paper  in  amazement,  ancJ 
then  at  the  face  of  Monsieur  Callot,  who,  totally 
unconscious  of  the  content?,  remained  very  non- 
chalantly expecting  the  reward.  "  Ten  thousand 
crowns  !"  cried  the  statesman,  giving  way  to  his 
passion.  "Ho!  without  there!  take  this  fellow 
out  and  flog  him  with  your  huntinjr  whips  out  of 
I^arbdnne.     Away  witJi  him,  and  curry  him  well  I" 

The  gi'ooms  instantly  seized  upon  poor  Callot, 
and  executed  Chavigni's  commands  with  high  glee. 
The  robber,  however,  though  somewhat  surprised, 
bore  his  flaggellation  very  patiently  ',  for  under  the 
jerkin  which  he  wore,  still  lay  the  rustv  iron  corslet 
we  have  before  described,  which  saved  him  from 
appreciating  the  blows  at  their  full  value. 

The  matter,  however,  was  yet  to  be  remember- 
ed, as  we  shall  see  3  for  when  Callot,  on  his  return 
to  the  forest,  informed  his  captain  what  sort  of  re- 
ward he  had  received  for  the  packet,  the  Norman's 
gigantic  limbs  seemed  to  swell  to  a  still  greater 
size  with  a  passion,  and  drawing  his  sword  he  put 
the  blade  to  his  lips,  swearing,  that  before  twelve 
months  were  over,  it  should  drink  Chavigni's  blood  ; 
and  promises  of  such  sort  he  usually  kept  most 
punctually. 


150  RlOJlfLlKU. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Wherein  De  Blenau   finds  out  that  he  has    made  a  raislake, 
and  what  follows. 


Having  now  conducicd  ©ur  truly-begotten  friend 
the  Sieur  Marteville,  considerably  in  advance  of 
the  rest  of  the  characters  in  this  true  history,  it  be- 
cgmes  us  to  show  our  impartiality  by  detailing  the 
principal  actions  of  our  other  personages,  and  also 
to  display  the  causes  which  brought  the  noble  Count 
de  Chavigni  to  such  a  distance  as  jSarbonne,  a  little 
town  in  the  southern  nook  of  Languedoc,  not  above 
a  few  leagues  from  Perpignan.  However,  as  all 
these  circumstances  are  naturally  explained  in  the 
history  of  the  Count  de  Blenau,  we  may  as  well  fol- 
low him  on  the  useless  pursuit  into  which  he  had 
been  led  by  the  precipitancy  of  monsieur  Henry 
de  La  i>iothe,  his  page,  who  would  have  saved  his 
master  a  great  deal  of  trouble  and  distress,  as  we  all 
know,  if  he  had  thought  fit  to  see  the  -'W^arquise  de 
Beaumont  j  but  young  hounds  will  often  cry  upon  a 
wrong  scent,  and  mislead  those  who  should  know 
better. 

Thus  it  happened  in  the  present  instance  j  and 
De  Blenau,  blinded  by  anxiety  for  Pauline,  took 
the  suspicions  of  his  page  for  granted,  without  ex- 
amination. He  knew  that  Chavigni  scrupled  not 
at  any  measures  which  might  serve  a  political  pur- 
pose ;  he  knew  that  the  Norman  was  in  the  imme- 
diate employment  of  the  statesman,  and  was  still 
less  delicate  in  his  notions  than  his  master  ;  jind 
he  doubted  not  that  Pauline,  having  been  discover- 
ed issuing  from  the  Bastile,  had  been  carried  oflf 
without  ceremony,  and  sent  from  Paris  under  the 
custody  of  the  ci-devant  robber.  At  all  events,  De 
Blenau,  as  he  rode  along,  composed  a  very  plausible 
chain  of  reasoning  upon  the  subject ;  and  far  from 
supposing  that  the  ISorman  would  avoid  the  wood 


RICHELIEVJ.  151 

in  the  neighbourhood  of  Mesnil,  he  concluded, 
from  his  knowledge  of  Marteville's  former  habits, 
that  a  forest  filled  with  robbers  would  fulfil  all  his 
anticipations  of  paradise,  and  be  too  stroi»g  an  at* 
traction  to  be  resisted. 

Thus  cogitating,  he  rode  on  to  Decize,  and  thecce 
to  Corbigny,  where  day  once  more  broke  upon  his 
path  3  and  having  been  obliged  to  allow  the  horses 
a  few  hours'  rest,  he  tried  in  vain  for  some  repose 
himself.  Auxerre  was  his  next  halt,  but  here  only 
granting  his  domestics  one  hour  to  refresh,  he  pass- 
ed the  Yonne,  and  soon  after  entered  Champagne, 
which  traversing  without  stopping,  except  for  a 
few  minutes  at  Bar  sur  Seine,  he  reached  Troyes 
before  midnight,  with  man  and  horse  too  wearied  to 
begin  their  search  before  the  following  morning. 

It  unluckily  so  happened  that  De  Blenau  did  not 
alight  at  the  hotel  of  the  Grand  Soleil,  where  he 
might  have  gained  such  information  as  would  in  all 
probability  have  prevented  his  farther  procedings  ; 
and  as  the  keeper  of  the  aberge  where  he  stopped 
was  at  open  war  with  the  landlord  of  the  Grand 
Solcii,  to  all  the  inquiries  which  were  made  the 
Qext  morning,  the  only  reply  the  aubergiste  thought 
fit  to  give  was,  that  '-indeed  he  could  not  tell  5 
he  had  never  seen  such  a  person  as  De  Blenau  de- 
scribed the  Norman  to  be,  or  such  a  lady  as  Pau- 
line }''  though  be  it  remarked,  every  body  in  the 
house,  after  having  gazed  at  Marteville  and  Louise 
for  a  full  hour  on  their  arrival,  had  watched  their 
motions  every  day,  and  had  wondered  themselves 
stifl'at  who  they  could  be  and  what  they  could  want. 
At  length,  however,  De  Blenau  caught  hold  of  an  un- 
sophisticated hostler,  of  whom  he  asked  if  within 
the  last  ten  days  he  had  see  a  carriage  stop  or  pass 
thrcugh  the  town,  containing  two  such  persons  as 
he  described. 

The  hostler  replied,  "  ISo  ;  that  they  seldom  saw 
carriages  there  ;  that  a  tall  gentleman,  like  the  one 
he  mentioned,  had  ridden  out  of  the  town  just  two 
days  before  with  a  lady  on  horseback  ;  but  devil   a 


1^2  RICHELIEU. 

carriage  had  their  been   in  Troyes  for  six  years  or 
more,  except  that  of  Monseignear  the  governor.'' 

De  Blenau,  glad  of  the  least  intimation  where 
r.ews  seemed  so  scanty,  now  described  the  iSorman 
as  particularly  as  he  could  from  what  he  had  seen 
of  him  while  speaking  to  Chavigni  in  the  park  of  St. 
Germain's,  dwelling  upon  his  giganlic  proportions, 
and  the  remarkable  cut  upon  liis  cheek. 

"  Yes.  yes  1"  replied  the  hostler,  '•  that  v/as  the 
man  5  I  saw  him  ride  out  with  s.jolie  demoiselle  on 
the  road  to  Mesnil  St.  Loup :  but  devil  a  carriage 
has  there  been  in  Troyes  for  six  years  or  more, 
except  that  of  ."^lonsiegneur  tlie  governor.'' 

"Well;  well/"'"  replied  De  Blenau,  wishing  if  pos- 
sible to  hear  more,  "perhaps  they  might  not  be  in 
a  carriage.  But  can  you  teil  me  whe  ^e  they  lodged 
while  inthe  city  of  Troyes  ?" 

Even  tlie  obtuse  wculiies  of  the  hostler  had  been 
drilled  into  knowing  nothing  of  any  other  aubergc 
in  the-  town  but  his  own.  "  Can't  tell/"  replied  h^e. 
"  Saw  him  and  the  lady  ride  out  on  horseback  ;  but 
devil  a  carriage  has  there  'been  in  Tr«yes  for  six 
years  or  more,  except  that  of  3fonseigneur  tlie  gov- 
ernor." 

Jt  may  have  been  remarked,  that  a  certain  degree 
of  impatience  and  hastiness  of  determination  v.'as 
one  of  the  prevailing.faults  of  De  Bienau's  disposi- 
tion :  and  in  this  case,  without  waiting  for  farther 
examination,  he  set  out  in  pursuit  of  t'le  iSor.nian  as 
soon  as  his  horses  were  ready,  merely  inquiring  if 
there  was  any  castie  in  the  neighborhood  of  7»/es- 
nil  wjiich  might  serve  for  the  confinement  of  state 
prisoners. 

The  landlord,  f^^  whom  the  question  was  address- 
ed, immediately  determined  in  his  ow^n  mind  that 
De  Blenau  was  an  n:-cr.t  f  f  the  government ;  and  re- 
plied, "  Aone,  Ihnt  fie  kriew  of.  but  the  old  chjiteau 
of  St.  Loup;  but  thn.t  A'onseigneur  had  belter  have 
it  repaired  before  he  confined  any  one  there,  for  it 
was  so  ruinous  they  would  get  out,  t.»  a  certainty, 
if  they  were  placed  there  i.a  its  present  Etatc." 


aiCHELIER 

De  Blenau  smiled  at  the  mistake,  bat  prepos- 
sessed with  the  idea  that  the  Norman  was  carrying 
Pauline  to  some  place  of  secret  imprisonment,  he 
determined  at  once  to  proceed  to  the  spot  the  au- 
bergiste  mentioned,  and  to  traverse  the  wood  from 
the  high  road  to  Troyes,  as  the  most  likely  route  on 
which  to  encounter  the  Norman,  against  whom  he 
vowed  tl»e  most  summary  vengeance,  if  fortune 
should  afford  him  the  opportunity.  | 

As,  from  every  report  upon  the  subject,  the  for- 
est had  been  for  some  time  past  the  resort  of  ban- 
ditti, De  Blenau  gave  orders  to  his  servants  to  hold 
themselves  upon  their  guard,  and  took  the  precau- 
tion of  throwing  forward  two  of  his  shrewdest  fol- 
lowers, as  a  sort  of  reconnoitring  party,  to  give  him 
intelligence  of  the  least  noise  which  could  indicate 
the  presence  of  any  human  being  besides  them- 
selves. But  all  these  measures  seemed  to  be  un- 
necessary ;  not  a  sound  met  the  ear  ;  and  De  Ble- 
nau's  party  soon  began  to  catch  glimpses  of  the  old 
chateau  of  St.  Loup,  through  the  breaks  in  the 
wood ;  and  gradually  winding  round  towards  the 
east,  gained  the  slope  which  gave  them  a  clear 
view  of  the  whole  building.  • 

Tl)e  whole  appearance  of  the  place  was  so  deso- 
late and  dilapidated,  that  the  first  glance  convinc- 
ed De  Blenau  that  Chavigni  would  never  dream  of 
confining  Pauline  within  such  ruinous  walls  ;  as  the 
mere  consideration  of  her  rank  would  prevent  him 
from  usin?  any  unnecessary  severity,  though  her 
successful  attempt  to  penetrate  into  the  Bastille 
afforded  a  plausible  excuse  for  removing  her  from 
Paris.  However,  in  order  not  to  leave  the  least 
doubt  upon  the  subject,  he  mounted  to  the  court- 
yard, and  having  ascertained  that  every  part  of  the 
building  was  equally  unfit  for  the  purposes  of  a  pris- 
on, and  that  it  was  actually  uninhabited  except  by 
ovvls  and  ravens,  he  determined  to  cross  to  a 
town,  the  tpirc  of  whose  church  he  saw  rising  on 


154  RlVtiLLlKa 

the  opposite  hill,  and  to  pursue  his.seetch  in-BOine 
other  direction. 

Descending,  therefore,  by  the  same  elope  which 
he  had  prerioasly  mounted,  he  wound  round  the 
base  of  the  hill  much  in  ihe  same  patS>  by  wiiich 
Callot  had  conducted  the  iNomian  and  Louise. 
Th3  stream,  however,  formed  the  boundary  «»f  his 
approach  to  the  castle  on  that  side  5  and  passing 
the  rocks,  which  we  have  already  mentioned  as 
strewed  about  at  the  foot  of  the  precipices,  he  fol- 
lowed the  course  of  the  river,  till,  winding  into  the 
wood,  the  castle,  and  the  hill  on  whicii  it  etood, 
were  lost  to  the  sight.  Here  as  he  rude  slowly  on, 
revolving  various  plans  for  more  successfully  pur- 
8uin;5  the  INorman,  and  reproaching  liimselt  for  not 
having  made  more  accurate  inquiries  at  Troyes,  his 
eye  was  suddenly  attracted  by  the  appearance  of 
something  floating  on  the  river  like  the  long  black 
hair  of  a  young  woman. 

De  Blenau's  heart  sank  within  hiih  ;  his  courage 
failed,  his  whole  strength  seemed  to  give  way, 
and  he  sat  upon  his  horse  like  a  statute,  pointing 
with  his  hand  towards  the  object  that  had  thus  af- 
fected him,  but  without  the  power  of  uttering  any 
Order  concerning  it. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  hair  vyav.ed  slowly  back- 
wards and  forwards  upon  the  stream,  and  one  of  the 
servants  perceiving  it,  dismounted  from  his  horse, 
waded  into  the  water,  and  catching  it  in  his  grasp, 
began  dragging  the  body  to  which  it  was  atiached 
towards  tiie  brink.  Ashe  did  so,  the  part  of  a  red 
serge  dress,  such  as  that  in  which  Pauline  had  visit- 
ed the  Bistille,  floated  to  the  surlace,  and  offered  a 
hornbie  confirmation  of  De  Blenau's  fears.  The 
first  shock,  however,  was  passed,  and  leaping  from 
his  horse  with  agony  depicted  in  his  sirainmg  eye, 
be  sprang  down  the  bank  into  the  stream,  and 
raising  the  f  ice  of  the  dead  person  above  the  water, 
beheld  the  countenance  of  Louise. 

Perhaps  the  immoderate  joy  which  De  Blenau 
felt    at  ^thifi    Mgbt  might  be  Wrong,    but   it  wa« 


RICHELIEU. 


1D5 


^natural ;  and  sitting  down  on  the  bank,  he  coverc  } 
•his  face  with  his  hands,  overcome  by  the  violent 
T-evolution  of  feeling  v/hich  so  suddenly  took  place 
in  his  bosom. 

In  the  meanwhile  his  servants  drew  the  body  of 
the  unfortunate  girl  to  the  bank,  and  speedily  dis- 
covered that  the  mode  of  her  death  had  been  of  a 
more  horrible  description  than  even  that  which 
tliQv  had  at  first  supposed  ;  for  in  her  bosom  appear- 
ed a  deep  broad  gash  as  if  from  the  blow  of  a  pon- 
iard, which  had  undoubtedly  deprived  her  of  life 
before  her  murderer  committed  the  body  to  the 
strenm. 

According  to  the  costume  of  her  country.  Louise 
•had  worn  upon  the  day  of  her  death  two  large 
■tvhite  pockets  above  tbre  jupe  of  red  serge.  These 
were  still  attached  to  the  black  velvet  bodice  which 
she  displayed  in  honor  of  her  marriage  with  the 
Norraao,  and  contained  a  variety  of  miscellaneous 
articles,  among  which  were  -several  epistles  from 
her  husband  to  herself  in  the  dr.ys  of  their  court- 
ship, which  showed  De  Blenau  that  she  had  been 
employed  as  a  spy  upon  Pauline  and  Madame  de 
Beaumont  ever  since  their  arrival  at  St.  Germains  : 
added  to  these  was  a  certificate  of  marriage  between 
Jean  Baptiste  Marteviile  and  Louise  Thibault,  cel- 
ebrated in  the  cliapd  of  the  Palais  Cardinal,  by 
Francois  Giraud.  All  this  fed  De  Blenau  to  con- 
clude that  he  had  been  misled  in  regard  to  the 
cause  of  Pauline's  absence  from  St.  Germnin'6,and 
he  accordingly  proceeJed  to  the  little  bourg  of 
Senecy  on  his  return  towards  Troj-es,  making  his 
men  bear  thither  the  body  of  Louise  witii  as  much 
decent  solemnity  as  the  circumstances  admitted. 
Having  here  intrusted  to  the  good  cure  of  the  place 
the  charge  of  the  funeral,  and  given  two  sums  for 
the  very  different  purposes  of  promoting  the  dis- 
covery ofthe  murderer  and  buying  a  hundred  masses 
for  the  soul  of  the  deceased,  De  Blenau,  pursued 
his  journey,  and  arrived  at  Troyes  before  night. 
Putting  up  this  time  at  the  'hotel  of  the   Grand 


150  RICUKLILC 

Soleil,  De  Blenaii  soon  acquired  sufficient  informa- 
tion to  confirm  him  in  the  opinion  that  the  J>sor- 
man  had  been  accompanied  by  Louise  alone  ;  but 
at  the  same  time,  the  accounts  which  the  people  of 
the  house'  gave  respecting  the  kii>dness  and  affec- 
tion that  Marteville  had  shown  his  bride,  greatly 
shook  the  suspicions  which  had  been  entertained 
against  him  by  De  Blenau,  who,  unacquainted  with 
any  such  character  as  that  of  the  JNornran,  knew 
not  that  there  are  men  who,  like  tigers  when  un- 
yrged  by  hunger,  wiil  play  with  their  victims  before 
they  destroy  them. 

The  next  morning  early,  all  was  prepared  for  the 
departure  of  De  Blenau,  on  liis  return  to  Moulins, 
when  his  farlner  progress  in  tliat  direction  was  ar- 
rested by  the  arrival  of  Henry  de  La  il/othe,  his 
page,  accompanied  by  one  of  the  king's  couriers, 
who  immediately  presented  to  the  co«7'.t  two  pack- 
ets, of  which  he  had  been  tiie  bearer  from  St.  Ger- 
main's. The  firsi  of  these  seemed,  from  the  super- 
scription, to  be  a  common  official  document  ;  but 
the  second  attracted  all  liis  attention,  and  made  his 
heart  beat  high  by  presenting  to  him  the  genuine 
handwriting  of  PauUine  deBeaumont.Wfthout  mean- 
ing any  oflence  to  royally,  whose  insignia  were  im- 
pressed upon  the  seal  of  the  other  packet,  De  Ble- 
nau eagerly  cut  the  silk  which  fastened  tie  billet 
from  Pauline.  It  contained  only  alow  lines,  but 
these, were  quite  sufficient  to  give  renewed  happi- 
ness to  the  heart  of  him  who  read  it.  She  had  just 
beard,  she  said,  that  the  king's  mes^scnger  was 
aBout  to  set  out,  and  though  they  hardly  gave  her 
time  to  fold  her  paper,  yet  she  would  not  let  any 
one  be  before  her  iu  congratulating  him  on  his 
freedom  to  direct  his  course  wheresoever  he  pleas- 
ed. She  could  not  divine,  she  continued,  whether 
his  choice  would  lead  him  to  St.  Germain's,  but  if 
it  did,  perhaps  he  might  be  treated  to  the  history  of 
an  errant  demoiselle,  who  had  suffered  various  ad- 
ventures in  endeavoring  to  liberate  her  true  knigl^t 
from  prison. 


SICHEUEU.  157 

'Be  Bienau  read  it  over  again,  and  then  lurmrd  to 
^he  other  paper,  which  merely  notified  that  the 
Icing,  contented  with  his  royal  and  peaceable  be- 
haviour while  reiegu^  ra  Bourbon,  had  been  gra- 
-ciously  pleased  to  relieve  him  from  the  restrictions 
-under  which  he  had  been  placed  for  his  own  benefit 
and  the  state's  security  ;  and  informed  him,  in  short 
that  he  had  leave,  liberty,  and  licence,  to  turn  his 
steps  whithersoever  he  listed. 

'*  To  St.  Germain's  .'"'  cried  De  Bienau,  gayly. 
"To  St.  Germain's!"  You,  Henry  de  La  Molhe, 
■stay  here  with  Franccois  and  Clement,  Take  good 
care  of  Monsieur  rOrdinarie,  and  see  that  he  be  re- 
warded."— The  messenger  made  him  a  reverence. — 
*'  After  you  have  reposed  yourself  here  for  a  day," 
continued  the  count,  "  return  to  Moulins ;  pay  »ic- 
Ire  proprieiaire,  and  all  that  may  be  there  due. 
There  is  the  key  of  the  coffre  fort.  Use  all  speed  ' 
that  you  well  may,  and  then  join  me  at  home.  And 
now  for  St.  Germain's." 

So  saying  he  sprang  on  his  horse  as  lisht  as  air, 
gave  the  well-known  signal  with  his  heel,  and  in  a 
moment  was  once  more  on  the  road  to  Paris. 

Although  I  find  a  minute  account  of  De  Blenau's 
■whole  journey  to  St.  Germain's  with  the  towns  arui 
inns  at  which  he  stopped,  marked  with  the  precis- 
ion of  a  road-book,  J  shall  nevertheless  take  upon 
myself  the  responsibility  of  abridging  it  as  far  as 
well  can  be,  by  saying  that  it  began  and  ended  hap- 
pily. 

The  aspect  of  St.  Germain's,  however,  had  very 
much  changed  since  De  Bienau  left  it.  Louis  had 
-now  fixed  his  residence  there  5  his  confidence  i-n 
the  queen  seemed  perfectly  restored  ;  every  counte- 
Hflnce  glowed  with  that  air  of  satisfaction,  which 
such  a  renewal  of  good  intelligence  naturally  pro- 
duced ;  and  the  royal  residence  had  once  more  as- 
sumed the  appearance  of  a  court. 

The  first  welcome  received  by  De  Bienau  was 
-from  his  gallant  friend  Cinq  Mars,  at  whose  request 
bis  recall  had  been  granted  by  the  king,  and  who 


158  aiCHKLIEU. 

now,  calculating  the  tiiae  of  the  exile's  return,  stood' 
at  the  door  of  De  Blenau'3  hotel,  ready  to  meet  him 
on  his  arrival. 

•''  Welcome,  welcome  back  !  my  long-lost  friend 
Claude  de  Blenau,'*  exclaimed  Cinq  Mars,  as  the- 
count  spraag  from  his  horse  ;  '*  welcome  from  the 
midst  of  prisons  and  trials,  perils  and  dangers  ."' 

"And  vveli  met  gallant  Cinq  Mars,  the  noble  and 
the  true,"  replied  De  Blenau.  "  But  tell  me,  in 
heaven's  name.  Cinq  JNJars,  what  makes  all  this 
change  at  St.  Germain's  1  Why,  it  looks  as  if  the 
forest  were  a  fair,  and  that  the  old  town  had  put  on- 
its  holiday  suit  to  come  and  see  it." 

"  Aay,  nay  !  rather  like  a  true  dame  that  dresses- 
herself  out  for  her  lover's  return,  it  has  made  itself" 
fine  to  receive  you  back  again,  replied  the  masterr 
of  the  horse.     '' But  if  ynu    would    really  know  the- 
secret  of  all  the  change  that  you  see  now.  and  will 
see  still  more  wonderfully  as  you  look  farther,  it  is 
this.     Richelieu  is  ill  atTarascon,  and  his  name  is 
scarcely  remembered  at  the  court,  though  Chavig- 
ni,  that  bold  rascal,  and  Mazarin,   that  subtle  one, 
come  prowling  about  to  maintain,  if   possible,  their 
master's  sway.     But  the  spell  is  broken,  and  Louis 
is  beginning  to   be  a  king  again  :  so  we  shall  see 
bright  dnys  yet.'' 

'*  1  hope  so ;  in  truth  f  hope  so,  Cinq  Mars,"  repli- 
ed De  Blenau.  '■  But  at  ail  events,  we  will  enjoy 
the  change  so  far  as  it  has  gone.  And  now,  what 
news  ut  the  palace  {  How  fare  all  the  lovely  ladies- 
of  the  court  V 

"Why  well,"  answered  Cinq  Mars  j.  '•'  all  well  } 
though  I  know,  De  Blenau,  that  your  question,  in 
comprising  a  hundred,  meant  but  one  only.  Well, 
what  say  you  ? — I  have  seen  thy  Pauline,  and  cannot 
but  allow  that  thy  taste  is  marvellous  good.  There 
is  a  wild  grace  about  her,  well  worth  all  the  formal' 
dignity  of  a  court.  One  gets  tired  of  the  stiff  court- 
esy and-  the  precise  bow  ;  the  kissing  of.  hands  and. 
the  Ujsping-of  names ;  the  momeigneurings  and  the 


RICHELIEU.  150 

madttminga,  Fif  !  one  Httle  touch  of  natiird  is  worth 

it  all." 

'  But  answer  me  one  question,  Jl/onsieur  le 
Grand,''  said  De  B;cuau.  '•'  Ho  v  catne  there  a  re- 
port about,  that  Pauline  had  been  carried  oli"  by 
some  of  the  cardinal's  pf>ople,  and  that  no  one  knew 
where  she  was  ?  for  suoh  a  tale  reached  me  even  ia 
Btjur'iion." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  the  last  to  hear  that 
stnry  T'  exclaimed  Cinq  iWars.  "  Why,  though  the 
old  marquise,  and  the  rest  at  the  palace,  afiecl  to 
keep  it  a  secret,  every  one  knows  the  advfentur^fi 
of  yo'jr  denwiseUe  eirante,'' 

De  Blenau's  cheek  flushed  to  hear  such  anime 
applied  to  Pauline;  but  Cinq  Mars  continued,  ob- 
serving that  his  friend  was  hurt — "  Nay,  nay.  every 
one  admires  her  for  the  whole  business,  and  no  one 
more  than  I.  But.  as  I  was  saying,  all  ihe  world 
knows  it.  The  queen  herself  told  it  to  Monsieur 
de  Louienie,  and  he  to  tiis  cousin  De  Thou,  and  De 
Tiinu  to  me*,  and  so  it  goes  on.  Well,  but  I  must 
taiye  up  the  gossip's  tale  at  the  bc;2;inning.  The 
queen,  wishing  to  communicate  with  ynu  in  pris- 
on, could  Hnd  no  messenger,  who,  for  either  g'dd  or 
fair  words,  would  venture  his  hend  into  the  rat- 
trap,  except  your  fair  Pauline;  and  she,  it  seems, 
attempted  twice  to  get  into  the  Bostille,  once  by 
day  and  once  at  night,  but  bnth  times  fruitlessly. 
How  it  happened  I  hardly  remember,  but  by  sonve 
means  Chavigni,  thrf*^h  some  of  his  creatures, 
winded  the  whole  aflair ;  and,  posting  from  Chantil- 
ly  to  Pnris,  catches  my  fair  lady  in  tlie  very  effort, 
disguised  as  a  soubrette  ;  down  he  pounces,  like  a 
falcon  on  a  partridge, and  having  secured  the  delin- 
quent, places  her  in  a  carriage,  which,  with  the 
speed  of  light,  cimveys  her  away  to  his  castle  in 
Maine,  where  Madame  I*  Comtesse  de  Chav'ii^ni — 
who.  by  the  way.  is  an  angel  according  to  all  ac- 
counts—receives the  young  lady  and  entertains  her 
with  all  kindness.  Ia  the  mea:n  whil6.  MoHsiieui^ 
le  Coiitpte  d«  Bienalt  is  exdmiaed  by  thd  kin|^iii 


ieO  .    RICHELIEU* 

person,  and  instead  of  having  his  head  cut  off,  is 
merely  relegu^  in  Bourbon  :  upon  which  Chavigni 
finds  he  has  lost  his  labour,  and  is  obliged  to  send 
for  the  pretty  prisoner  back  again  with  all  speed." 

Although  De  Blenau  was  aware,  from  his  own 
personal  experience,  that  Cinq  Mars  had  mistaken 
several  parts  of  his  history,  he  did  not  think  tit  to 
Bet  him  right,  and  the  master  of  the  horse  proceed- 
ed ;  "  However,  let  us  into  thy  hotel.  Get  thy 
dinner,  wash  the  dust  from  thy  beard,  array  thyself 
in  an  unsullied  doublet,  and  we  will  hie  to  the 
dwelling  of  thy  lady  fair,  to  glad  her  eyes  with  the 
sight  of  thy  sweet  person." 

De  Blenau  smiled  at  his  friend's  raillery,  and  as 
the  proposal  very  well  accorded  with  his  wishes, 
every  moment  seeming  misspent  that  detained  him 
from  Pauline,  he  changed  his  dress  as  speedilv  as 
possible,  and  was  soon  ready  to  accompany  Cinq 
A/ars  to  the  palace. 

As  they  proceeded  on  their  way  towards  the 
gates  of  the  park,  a  figure  presented  itself,  which, 
from  its  singularity,  was  worthy  of  notice.  It  was 
that  of  a  tall,  thin,  raw-boned  man,  who,  naturally 
possessing  a  countenance  of  the  ugliest  cast  of  Ital- 
ian ugliness,  had  rendered  it  still  more  disagreeable 
by  the  enormous  length  of  his  mustachios,  which 
would  have  far  overtopped  his  nose,  had  it  been  a 
nose  of  any  ordinary  proportion  3  but  a  more  exten- 
sive, pear-shaped,  ill-adapted  organ  never  project- 
ed from  a  human  countenanae  5  and  this,  together 
with  a  pair  of  small,  flaming  black  eyes,  which  it 
seemed  to  bear  forward  with  it  above  the  rest  of  the 
face,  protruding  from  a  mass  of  beard  and  hair,  in- 
stantly reminding  the  beholder  of  a  badger  looking 
out  of  a  hole.  The  chin,  however,  bore  no  pro- 
portion to  the  nose,  and  seemed  rather  to  slink 
away  from  it  in  an  oblique  direction,  apparently 
overawed  by  its  more  ambitious  neighbour. 

The  dress  of  this  delectable  personage  was  a 
medley  of  the  French  and  Flemish  costumes.  He 
wore  a  gray  vest  of  silk,  with  sleeves  slashed  at 


RICHELIBO.  161 

the  elbow,  and  the  shirt,  which  was  not  conspicu- 
ously clean,  buttoned  at  the  wrist  with  agate  studs. 
His  Haute,  de  chausse,  which  was  of  deep  crimson, 
and  bore  loops  and  ribands  of  yellow,  was  fringed 
rotmd  the  leg.near  the  knees,  with  a  series  of  brazen 
tags  or  points  but  indifferently  silvered  ;  and  as  he 
walked  along  with  huge  steps,  these  aforesaid  tags 
clattered  together  with  a  sort  of  important  sound, 
which,  put  in  combination  with  the  rest  of  his  ap- 
pearance, drew  many  a  laugh  from  the  boys  of  St. 
Germain's.  Over  his  gray  vest  was  drawn  a  straight- 
cut  doublet  of  yellow  silk,  without  sleeves  5  and  a 
pair  of  long  boots,  of  untanned  leather,  covered  all 
defects  which  might  otherwise  have  been  apparent 
in  his  hose.  His  dress  was  completed  by  a  tawdry 
bonnet  with  a  high  black  plume  j  and  a  Toledo 
blade  of  immeasurable  length,  with  a  worked  iron 
hilt  and  black  scabbard  hung  by  his  side,  describ- 
ing with  its  point  various  strange  figures  on  the  dust 
of  the  road. 

'*  Here  comes  Villa  Grande,  the  Italian  lute- 
player,"  exclaimed  Cinq  Mars  the  moment  he  saw 
him.    "  Do  you  know  him,  De  Blenau  ?" 

"  1  have  heard  him  play  on  his  instrument  and 
sing  at  your  house,"  replied  De  Blenau  ;  "and  from 
his  language  that  night,  may  say  I  know  him 
through  and  through,  for  a  boasting  coxcomb,  with 
as  much  courage  as  the  sheath  of  a  rapier — which 
looks  as  good  as  u  rapier  itself  till  it  is  touched, 
and  then  it  proves  all  emptiness.  Mind  you  hovv 
he  boasted  of  having  routed  whole  squadrons  when 
he  served  in  the  Italian  horse  ?  and  I  dare  say  he 
would  run  from  a  stuffed  pikeman  in  an  old  hall." 

"Nay,  nay  ;  you  do  him  wrong,  Claude,"  replied 
Cinq  Mars.  "  He  has  rather  too  much  tongue,  it  is 
true  ;  but  that  is  not  always  the  sign  of  a  bad  hound. 
I  must  speak  to  him,  however,  for  he  does  me  ser- 
vice. Well,  Signor  Villa  Grand,"  continued  he, 
addressing  the  Italian,  who  now  approached,  swing- 
ing an  enormous  oane  in  his  hand,  and  from  time 
to  time  curling  up  the  end  of  his  raustachios  ;  "you 


162  ~  aiCflEtlElh 

remember  that  you  are  to  be  ready  at  a  moment's 
notice.  Be  sure,  also,  that  your  mind  be  made  upj 
for  I  tell  you  fairly,  the  service  which  you  under- 
take is  Olio  of  danger." 

"  Monsieur,'  replied  the  iLalian  with  a  strong 
foreign  accent,  •'  1  will  be  ready,  when  you  call  up- 
on me.  in  shorter  time  than  you  could  draw  your 
sword  ;  and  as  for  my  mind  being  marie  up,  if  there 
were  an  nrmy  drawn  out  to  oppose  my  progress,  I 
would  be  bound  to  carry  the  despatch  to  tiie  Duke 
of  Bouillon,  or  die  in  the  attempt.  Fear  not  my 
yielding  it  to  any  body  ;  piutosto  morir  vol'  io,  as 
the  song  has  it,"  and  he  hummed  a  fevv  bars  of  one 
of  his  native  airs.  "  Oh  Dio  .'"  continued  he,  re- 
cognising De  Blenau,  who  liad  turned  away  on  per- 
ceiving that  Cinq  Mars  spoke  to  the  ltaii:in<>n  some 
business  of  a  private  nature.  "  Oh  L'io  !  Monsieur 
le  Counte  de  Blenau,  is  it  really  you  returned  at 
last?  Benedetto  quel  gioino  felice  !  Doubtless  you 
are  aware  of  the  glorious  plans  of  your  triend 
Mon>ieurle  Grand." 

.  '•  Good  day,  signor,"  answered  De  Blennu  ;  "  I 
know  of  no  one's  plans  but  my  own,  the  m-  st  glori- 
ous of  which,  within  my  apprehension  at  present,  is 
to  got  to  the  palace  as  soon  as  possible.  Come, 
Cinq  Mars,  are  you  at  leisure  !"  and  he  took  a  step 
or  two  in  advance,  while  the  master  of  the  horse 
gave  the  Italian  a  warning  to  put  a  bridle  on  his 
tongue,  and  not  to  let  ii  run  so  loosely  w^iihoul  any 
regard  to  necessary  caution. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  take  care  what  you  are 
about,  ('inq  Mars!"  said  De  Blerau,  when  he  was 
again  joined  byJiis  friend.  "OC  course  you  are  the 
best  judge  of  your  own  plans  ;  but  unless  you  have 
a  mind  to  ruin  them  all,  do  not  Unr  them  to  .such 
a  babbling  idiot  as  that ;  and  beware  that,  in  attempt- 
ing to  catch  a  lion,  you  do  not  get  torn  yourself.^ 

'•Oh,  no  fear,"  replipd  the  grand  ecuyer ;  '  ibat 
fellow  knows  nothing  more  than  it  is  absolutely 
B«<ie98af J  for  hiia  to  know  ;  and  aa  for  the  rest,  I 


RICHELIEU.  163 

have  pIuDgied  into  a  wide  sea,  Claude,  and  must 
Bwim  to  land  somehow." 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  gates  on  the 
palace,  and  Cinq  JVlnrs,  knowing  tl-.at  some  meet- 
ings are  better  in  privtiie,  left  his  friend,  and  turned 
his  steps  towards  the  apartments  of  the  king. 

In  the  mean  wiiile.  De  Blenau  proceeded  with  a 
rapid  pace  towards  thnt  part  of  the  palace  which 
had  been  assigned  to  Madame  de  Beaumont  ;  and 
his  heart  beat  with  that  wild  uncontrollable  emo- 
tion, whicli  the  meeting  with  one  dearly  loved  can 
alone  produce.  At  that  very  moment  similar  sen- 
sations were  throbbing  in  the  bosom  of  Pauline  de 
Beaumont,  who  from  the  window  had  seen  the  af>- 
proach  of  Cinq  Mars  and  another  ;  and  long  before 
her  eye  could  distinguish  a  feature,  her  heart  had 
told  her  who  it  was.  A  sort  of  irresistibl'^  impulse 
led  her,  at  first,  to  fly  towards  the  door  by  which 
she  expected  him  to  enter  ;  but  before  she  was  half 
across  the  room,  some  other  feeling  came  over  her 
mind.  She  returned  to  her  seat  at  the  window, 
and  a  blush  stole  over  her  cheek,  though  there  was 
no  otiier  person  present  to  observe  her  emotion  or 
pry  into  its  cause. 

The  door  was  partially  open,  and  more  than  once 
she  raised  her  eyes  towards  i',  and  thought  that  De 
Blennu  was  long  in  coming  so  short  a  distance. 
But  presently  she  heard  his  step,  and  there  was  an 
impatient  eagerness  even  in  the  sound  ot  his  foot- 
fall that  convinced  her  he  lost  no  time.  Another 
moment  and  he  entered  the  room— ^very  feeling  but 
one  was  at  an  end,  and  Pauline  was  in  his  arms. 

It  is  not  at  the  moment  when  a  lover  has  endured 
many  sorrows,  and  escap  d  from  many  dangers,  that 
a  gentle  heart  cnn  practise  even  the  every-day  af- 
fectations which  a  great  part  of  the  world  are  pleas- 
ed to  mistake  for  delicacy ;  and  far  less  inclined  to 
attempt  it  than  any  other  person  in  the  world,  was 
Pauline  de  Beaumont.  The  child  of  nature  and 
simplicity,  her  delicacy  was  that  of  an  elegant  mind 
and  a  puro  heart    Of  whal  she  did  feel  she  con- 


164  ^RICHELIEU. 

cealed  little,  ^ind  affected  nothing  ;  and  De  Blerau 
was  happy. 

or  course  there  was  a  great  deal  to  be  told,  and 
De  Blenau  was  listening  delighted  to  an  account  of 
the  considerate  kindness  with  which  the  Countess 
de  Chavigni  had  treated  his  Pauline,  when  the 
sound  of  voices  approacMng  towards  them  stopped 
her  in  her  history. 

It  is  precisely  at  such  moments  as  those  when 
we  wish  every  body  but  ourselves  away,  that  the 
world  is  most  likely  to  intrude  upon  us ;  and  Pau- 
line and  De  Blenau  had  not  met  more  than  five 
minutes,  as  it  seemed  to  them,  when  the  queen  and 
Madame  De  Beaumont  entered  the  apartment. 
How  long  they  had  been  really  together  is  another 
question,  for  lovers'  feelings  are  not  always  the 
truest  watches. 

"  Welcome,  -my  faithful  De  Blenau,"  said  the 
<5ueen.  "  We  encountered  the  grand  ecuyer  but 
now,  who  told  us  where  we  §hou!d  find  you.  For 
my  own  part,  I  suppose  I  must  in  all  justice  forgive 
your  paying  your  devoirs  here  before  you  came  to 
visit  even  me.  However,  ere  there  be  any  one 
near  to  overhear,  I  must  thank  you  for  all  you  have 
done  for  me,  and  for  all  you  have  suffered  on  my 
account.  Nor  must  I  forget  my  little  heroine  here, 
who  went  through  all  sorts  of  peril  and  danger  in 
conveying  my  message  to  you  in  the  Bastille." 

"  Your  majesty  was  very  good  in  sending  me  such 
an  angel  of  comfort,"  replied  De  Blenau.  "  And 
certainly,  had  it  not  been  for  the  commands  she 
brought' me.  I  believe  that  his  most  (.'hristian-like 
eminence  of  Richelieu  would  have  doomed  me  to 
the  torture  for  my  obstinacv." 

"  Put  it  in  other  words,  De  Blenau.-'  said  Anne  of 
Austria.  "  You  mean  that  you  would  have  endur- 
ed the  torture  sooner  than  betray  yourqueen.  But 
truly,  Pauline  must  have  a  stout  heart  to  have  carried 
through  such  an  undertaking  ;  and  1  think  that  the 
fidelity  and  attachment  which  you  have  both  shown 
to  me,  offers  a  fair  promise   for  your   conduct  to- 


IllCili-LiEV.  165 

wards  each  other.  What  say  you,  iWadame  de  Beau- 
mont?" 

"  1  think,  madame,  replied  the  marcT»ioness,  "  that 
Pauline  has  done  her  duty  with  more  firmness  than 
most  girls  could  have  commanded  :  and  that  De 
Blenau  has  done  his  as  well  as  it  could  be  done." 

''  Pauline  merits  more  praise  than  her  mother 
ventures  to  give,"  said  the  queen.  "  But  I  had  for- 
got the  king's  summons  •,  and  probably  he  is  even 
now  waiting  for  us.  Come,  JPauline ;  come,  De 
Blenau.  Louis  gives  high  commendation  to  your 
demeanor  in  prison  }  let  us  see  how  he  greets  you 
out  of  it." 

A  message  had  been  conveyed  lo  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria, just  before  the  arrival  of  De  Blenau,  intimating 
that  the  king  had  desired  to  see  her  ;  and  she  now 
led  the  way  to  the  Salle  Ronde,  as  it  was  then  caD- 
ed,  or  the  Salle  dcs  Muses,  as  it  was  afterward  nam- 
ed by  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  where  the  king  waited 
her  approach.  Although  the  uncertain  nature  of 
Louis's  temper  always  made  her  feel  some  degree 
of  apprehension  when  summoned  to  his  presence, 
the  kindness  he  had  lately  shown  lier,  and  the 
presence  of  a  large  proportion  of  her  friends,  made 
her  obey  his  call  with  more  pleasure  than  she  usual- 
ly felt  on  similar  occasions. 

Louis's  object,  in  the  present  instance,  w;is  to 
inform  the  queen  of  the  journey  he  was  abou!.  to 
make  into  the  neiglibourhood  of  Fernignan,  in  onler 
to  confirni  the  inhabitants  of  lloussillon  in  tlitir 
new  allegiance  to  the  crown  -^f  France  5  and  Cinq 
Mars,  who  had  always  sincerely  witjied  the  welfare 
of  Anne  of  Austria,  took  this  opportunity  of  insinua- 
ting to  the  king,  that  to  show  publicly  liis  restored 
conlidence  in  the  queen,  so  far  from  lessening  liis 
authoriiy,  oven  in  appearance,  would  be  in  truth 
only  assr,itin;T  his  own  dignity,  from  which  the  pro- 
cce«Ungsof  Fiichelieu  had  so  greatly  derogated. 

De  Blenau  and  Pauline  followed  a  step  or  two  be- 
hind' the  queen  and  iliadamc  de  Beaumont,  and 
would  willingly  have  lingered  still  lojngor  by  them- 


166  RICHELIEU 

selves  ;  but  as  something  must  alwnys  be  sacrificed 
to  appearance,  they  quickened  their  pace  as  Anne 
of  Austria  approached  the  door  of  the  Salic  Ronde, 
and  came  up  with  lier  just  as  she  entered  the  room 
in  which  the  principrl  part  of  the  French  court  was 
assembled.  The  moment  she  appeared.  Louis  ad- 
vanced towards  the  queen  from  the  brilliant  circle 
in  which  he  stood,  and  embraced  her  affectionate- 
ly. "Welcome,  my  fair  lady,"  said  he.  "  I  see 
you  have  brought  the  new  returned  exile  with  you. 
— Monsieur  de  Blenau,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  at 
court ; — this  is  a  pleasanter  place  than  where  we 
met  last.'" 

"I  can  assure  you,  sire.**  replied  De  Blenau, 
•'  that  I  will  never  be  willingly  in  circumstances  to 
meet  your  majesty  there  again.*' 

'•  1  do  not  doubt  it,  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  said  the 
king.  "  You  should  thank  Heaven  that  delivered 
you  from  such  peril.  Sir  Count. — Madam  ''  he  con- 
tinued, turning  to  the  queen,  "  I  requested  to  see 
you,  not  only  for  the  pleasure  which  your  presence 
mubt  always  ^ive,  but  to  inform  you,'  that  affairs  of 
state  will  "sliortly  call  me  to  Tsarbonne,  in  Langue- 
dcrc,  from  whence  1  shall  return  with  all  conveni- 
ent speed."' 

'•  Your  majesty  soon  leaves  St.  Germain's, "  re- 
plied the  queen.  "  I  do  not  think  }ou  love  it  for  a 
sojourn,  as  in  <.ther  days." 

•Kotso."  answered  Louis:  "so  well  do  I  love 
it,  that  T  had  purposed  to  have  worn  out  the  rest 
of  my  days  here,  hr.d  not  the  duties  of  my  (station 
called  mo  lienre  :  but  my  return  will  be  speedy  if 
•  God  give  me  life. — What  man  can  say  how  long  he 
may  remain  ?  and  I  feel  many  a  warning  that  my 
time  will  1  e  but  short  in  this  world. — Tla  I  what 
mean  tlK-.-^e  drops  in  your  eyes? — 1  did  r-ot  know, 
Anne,  tliat  such  were  your  feelings."  And  he 
pressed  the  queen's  hand,  uhich  be  had  continued 
tt)  retain  in  his. 

"  Oh  Louis  :"'  replied  Anne  of  Austria,  and  by  that 
Fimple  exclamation   conveyed  a  more   delicate  »«- 


i 


RICHELIEU.  167 

proach  to  the  heart  of  her  husband  than  she  could 
nave  done  by  any  other  expression  in  the  range  of 
language.  Louis  felt  it,  and  drawing  her  arm  kind- 
ly through  his  own,  Uf  proposed  aloud  tlial  the 
whole  party  should  waik  iorth  upon  the  terrace.  It 
was  the  queen's  favorite  spot,  and  she  easily  under- 
Bt«-'i«d  that  it  was  meant  as  some  atonement  for 
many  a  former  slight.  Those,  too,  who  stood  round 
and  saw  what  had  taken  place,  began  to  perceive 
that  a  new  star  was  dawning  in  the  horizon,  and 
ttirned  their  eyes  to  watch  its  progress  and  court  its 
influence. 

Tho  king  and  queen  were  followed  by  t!ie  great- 
er part  of  tlie  court:  and  during  the  walk  Lauis 
continued  to  manifest  that  kindness  towards  his 
wife,  which,  had  it  been  earlier  shown,  might  have 
given  him  a  life  of  happiness.  Let  me  beg  you, 
madam,-'  said  he,  as  at  length  they  turned  to  enter 
the  palace,  "  not  only  to  be  careful  of  our  chil- 
dren, for  that  I  am  sure  you  will  be,  but  also  to  be 
careful  of  their  rnother,  for  my  sake.'' 

The  queen's  feelings  were  overpowering;  the 
tears  rtdJed  rapidly  down  her  checks,  taking  from 
her  all  power  of  utterance,  and  quitting  the  king, 
ai'ier  pressing  his  hand  to  her  lips,  she  retired  to 
her  own  apartments,  to  indulge  in  so'itude  the  new 
and  d.elightful  emotions  which  her  husband's  un- 
fxpecied  kindness  had  excited. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Whicli  slicws  til."!   tlie  infimRnt  and  t!ie   rnnnner   have   often 
more  lo  do  witU  i'uccess  dian  llie  in  •Iter 

The  various  preparations  for  the  king's  journey 
into  Roussillon   occupied  no  small  space  of  time: 


IQ^  RICHELIEU. 

Litters  and  carriages  were  to  be  provided  ;  relays  of 
horses  to  be  stationed  on  the  road  j  cooks  and  victu- 
allers were  to  be  sent  forward  3  and  a  thousand  oth- 
er arrangements  to  be  made,  required  either  by  the 
general  difficulty  of  locomotion  in  those  days,  or 
by  the  failing  health  of  the  king.  It  was  not'lhen, 
as  in  the  present  time,  when  monarchs  and  subjects 
travel  with  equal  facility  all  over  the  globe  :  when 
a  king  gets  into  his  travelling  chaise  with  no  more 
to  do  than  x  private  man.  and  is  carried  along  over 
a  level  road  without  let  or  hinderance  jolt  or  jumb- 
ling, to  whatsoever  place  his  fancy  may  incline 
him.  The  journey  of  a  sovereign  was  then  as  for- 
midable an  undertaking  as  the  passage  of  the  great 
desert  to  a  modern  traveller,  and  required  fully  as 
much  provision  and  circumspection. 

One  great  object  of  Richelieu's  policy  had  been 
to  diminish  the  feudal  influence  of  the  nobility,  and 
by  forcing  them  to  reside  with  the  court,  to  'break 
through  tlieir  constant  communication  with  their 
vassals.  In  pursuit  of  this,  he  had  drawn  the  greater 
part  of  the  nobles  to  Paris  ;  and  now  that  his  ab- 
sence and  declining  favor  with  the  king  dissolved 
the  charm  which  seemed  to  hold  them  in  the  capi- 
tal, they  congregated  at  St.  Germain's  like  a  flock 
of  bees^  that,  having  lost  their  hive,  flew  forth  in 
search  of  a  new  one.  Many  rf  these  were  bound, 
bv  their  various  offices  in  the  household,  to  accom- 
pany the  king  in  lus  present  joo.rney  ;  others  were 
particularly  invited  to  do  so  either  by  Louis  himself 
or  by  Cinq  Mars  and  Fontraiiles,  who  sought  to 
turrouud  the  king  with  those  who,  on  any  sudden 
emergency,  might  support  their  party  against  the 
cardinal ;  "and  a  crowd  of  others  from  vanity  or  in- 
terest, curiosity  or  ambition,  were  glad  to  follow  in 
the  train  of  the  monarch. 

Thus  the  greater  part  of  the  nobles  who  had 
flocked  to  St.  Germain's,  on  Richelieu's  departure 
from  Paris,  now  again  left  it  in  order  to  take  part 
in  the  journey  to  Narbonne.  As  all  the  horsea,  and 
"Very  sort  of  accommodation  on    the   direct  road. 


RiaitKLTKD         .  ie^ 

Were  engaged  for  the  service  of  the  king  and  those 
iminadiateiy  attendant  upon  him.  the  greater  part 
of  vise  court  took  the  indirect  roads  by  vvhich  they 
could  always  b3  near  tlie  royal  party  3  and  the  rest 
followed  a  day  or  two  after,  taking  advantage  of 
whatever  conveaiencos  might  be  left  unappropriat- 
ed. 

There  were  one  or  two,  however,  who  departed 
bo'ore  Louis,  and  of  these  the  principal  was  Ciia- 
vigni,  who  set  out  accompanied  by  a  few  servants, 
two  or  three  days  prior  to  that  appointed  for  the 
k'ng's  expedition.  His  ostensible  destination  was, 
like  tliat  of  the  rast  of  the  court,  to  Narbonae  5  but 
turning  to  the  left,  he  directed  his  course  towards 
Tarascon,  and  having  travelled  with  the  utmost 
rapidity,  wliile  Louis  proceeded  by  easy  stages,  he 
had  quite  sufficient  lime  to  communicate  fully  with 
Richelieu,  and  to  proceed  to  iNarbonnc  before  the 
king's  arrival. 

The  journey  into  Uoussillon  had  been  undertak- 
en by  the  express  advice  of  Richelieu  ;  and  though 
Cinq  M.iis  ventured  boldly  to  attack  the  conduct 
of  iho  cardinal  in  evrn-y  respect^  to  place  ail  his 
measures  in  the  worst  point  of  view,  and  to  encour- 
age every  sentiment  in  the  king's  mind  which  was 
in  o,)position  to  those  of  the  minister,  still  no 
change,  or  even  a  proposal  of  change  in  the  gov* 
ernm'jnt  had  been  mentioned,  up'to  the  time  of  the 
court  reaching  JNaibounc.  Richelieu  was  still 
prime  minister,  and  the  council  remained  composed 
of  persons  devoted  to  his  interest,  tliough  the  views 
of  Cinq  Mars  were  already  spoken  (>f  in  more  than 
one  circle,  and  the  consent  of  the  king  was  so  far 
assumed  as  a  matter  decided,  that  the  two  parlies 
were  distinguished  by  the  names  of  Royalist  and 
Catdinaiist. 

While  ll»e  court    remained  with  the    army  near 

Perpiga.in.    and    after    its    removal    to    JS'arbonne, 

Richelieu  siill  lav  dangerously  ill  at  Tarascon.    His 

I    mind  was  deeply  depressed,  as  well  as  hia  copoeal 

VOL.  II  12 


^fQ  KlCKELiEU, 

{(Owers  ',  and  in  the  opinion  of  all,  a  few  weeks  were  , 
ikely  to  terminate  both  his  ministry  and  his  exis- 
tencC;  even  if  the  eager  hand  of  his  enemies  did 
not  hurry  him  onward  to  more  rapid  destruction. 
But  the  fiery  spirit  of  Cinq  Mare  brooked  no  delayj 
the  lazy  course  of  natural  decay  was  too  slow  for 
his  impatience  ;  and  though  De  Thou,  who  accom- 
pinied  ^his  friend  to  Narbonne,  reiterated  in  his 
cars  the  maxims  of  caution  and  wisdom,  on  the 
other  hand  Fontraiiles,  fearful  lest  he  should  lose 
the  merit  and  consequent  influence  he  should  ac- 
quire by  the  removal  of  Richelieu,  never  ceased  to 
urge  the  favorite  to  hurry  on  the  compleiion  of 
their  design. 

In  the  meantime,  every  thing  seemed  favorable 
to  the  conapiratorg  ;  and  Cinq  Mare  felt  confident 
that  the  secret  inclination  of  Louis  would  second 
all  his  views  j  but  neverthelese,  he  wished  for  some 
more  public  and  determinate  expression  of  the 
king's  opinion,  before  he  asked  his  consent  to  the 
measures  which  had  been  concerted.  After  the 
arrival  of  the  court  at  Karbonne;  however,  the 
monarch's  conduct  in  respect  to  Rlchelieti  became 
of  so  decisive  acharacte-,  tliat  no  farther  delay  ap- 
peared necessary.  Withiss  a  few  miles  ot*  the 
place  where  the  "cardinal  lay  ill,  the  kii.ij  seemed 
entirely  to  have  forgotten 
or  only  to  remember  hin 
if  it  was  ever  mentioned, 

ii's  countenance  an  expression  of  uncaijineBs  and 
disapprobation  j  and  by  no  chance  was  the  king 
ever  heard  to  pronounce  it  bimself.  By  all  these 
circumstances,  Cinq  Mars  was  determined  to  com- 
municate to  Louis,  as  soon  ns  poBeiblc,  (he  schemes 
which  had  been  formed  for  freeing  the  country 
from  the  yoke  of  Uichelicii.  Ke  si'.f'crGd,  liowevcr, 
•everal  days  to  elnpse  in  waiiin,^  for  a  favorabio 
opportunity,  and  at  lenith,  as  often  happens..  gro>v- 
jng  impatient  of  delay rtook  perhaps  the  most  in- 
auspicious moment  that  could  have  been  selected. 


rfmal  lay  iH,  the  kn.ij  seemed 
!)iten  that  auch  a  man  existed,   J 
him  with  hatred.    Hia  name,  i 
sed,  instantly  called  ir.to  Lou-    * 


illCHELlEU.  171 

tt  was    on  a  morning  when  every  thing  had  gone 
\vrong  with  Louis. 

Notwithstanding  his  failing  health,  he  still  clung 
lo  his  accustomed  amusements,  and  very  often 
rode  forth  to  hunt  when  he  was  very  unfit  for  any 
bodily  exercise.  On  these  occasions,  the  distress- 
ing consciousness  of  his  decaying  powers  always 
l-endered  him  doubly  irritabie ;  and  on  the  day 
which  Cinq  Mars  unfortunately  chose  to  broach 
the  subject  of  the  dismissal  of  Richelieu,  a  thou- 
sand trivial  accidents  had  occurred  to  increase  his 
ill-humor  to  the  highest  pitch.  His  horse  had  fall- 
en with  him  in  the  chase  ;  they  had  beat  the  coun- 
try lor  hours  without  finding  any  game  worthy  of 
pursuit;  and  when  at  length  they  did  rouse  a  fine 
boar,  and  had  brought  him  to  bay,  he  broke  out, 
after  killing  two  of  the  king's  best  hounds,  and 
plunged  into  the  deepest  pari  of  the  forest.  Lo«is 
was  returning  home  from  this  unsuccessful  chase, 
when  Cinq  Mars,  turning  his  eyes  towards  the 
towers  of  Tarascon,  which  just  then  were  seen 
rising  above  the  trees  in  the  dislance,  pointed  to 
them  witlj  his  hunting-whip,  saying,  "  There  lies 
the  cardinal  !" 

"  Well,  sir,"  exclaimed  Louis  eagerly,  catching 
at  any  tiling  on  which  to  vent  his  irritability—"  do 
you  wish  me  to  g^o  and  see  him  ?  Doubtless  he  will 
be  glad  of  the  visit.  Let  us  go."  And  he  reined 
in  his  horse,  as  if  with  the  intention  of  turning  him 
towards  Tarascom. 

*'  Far  be  it  from  me  to  advise  yxiur  majesty  so  to 
do,"  replied  Cinq  Mars,  who  clearly  perceived  that 
the  king's  answer  proceeded  only  from  casual  irri- 
tation. "  It  was  the  sight  of  the  old  towers  of  the 
chateau  that  called  the  cardinal  to  my  mind.  In 
truth,  1  had  almost  forgotten  him." 

"Forgolien  him,  Cniq  Mars!"  cried  the  king. 
"  1  think  he  has  done  enough  to  make  himself  re- 
membered." 

"  He  has  indeed,  sire,"  replied  Cinq  Mars,  "  and 
his  memory  will    long  last,  coupled  with  curses,  in 


172  RICHELIEU. 

the  heart  of  evefy  true  Frenchman.  But  there  hi8 
lies  ,  1  trust,  like  the  Tarasque,  hideous  but  harm- 
less, for  the  present." 

''  What  do  you  mean  by  the  Tarasque  1"  deman- 
ded Louis  5  ''  I  never  heard  of  it." 

'•  It  IS  merely  a  whimsical  stone  dragon,  sire," 
replied  Ci.nq  Mars,  "  that  lies  carved  in  the  church 
of  St.  Martlie,  at  Tarascon  on  the  Rhone — a  thing 
of  no  more  real  use  than  the  Cardinal  de  Riche- 
lieu." 

"  Of  no  use,  sir  \"  exclaimed  the  king,  his  eye 
flashing  fire.  ''Do  you  think  that  we  would  repose 
such  trust,  and  confide  our  kingdom's  weal  to  one 
who  is  of  no  use  ?  Silence,  sir  !"  he  continued, 
seeing  Cinq  Mars  about  to  reply  :  ''No  more  of 
this  subject — we  have  heard  too  much  of  it." 

Cinq  ^lars  was  too  wise  to  add  another  word, 
and  the  king  rede  on  to  Narbonne,  maintaining  a 
jjullen  silence  towards  all  around  him. 

Of  the  conversation  which  had  passed  not  one 
word  had  escaped  the  ears  of  Fontrailles  ;  and  the 
moment  the  cortege  had  dismounted,  he  followed 
the  master  of  the  horse  towards  a  distant  part  of 
the  grounds  which  lay  behind  the  chateau.  Cinq 
Mars  walked  on  as  if  he  did  not  see  him,  and  at 
last  finding  that  he  persisted  in  following,  he  stopi 
ped  abruptly,  exclaiming,  ••Well,  Fontrailles! 
well!  what  now  ?  What  would  you  say?  lean 
guess  it  all,  so  spare  yourself  the  trouble.-' 

"  You  mistake  me,  Cinq  Mars,  replied  Fontrail- 
les, "if you  think  1  would  blame  you.  You  did 
your  best,  though  ths  time  was  not  the  best  chos- 
en; but  all  I  wish  to  press  upon  you  is,  not  to  let 
this  dispirit  you.  Let  the  subject  die  away  for  the 
i^resent,  and  seem  forgotten  ti4l  the  king  is  in  a 
Letter  mood.  Every  hour  of  his  neglect  is  death 
to  Richelieu  ;  and  besides,  the  kings  consent  is 
not  absolutely  necessary  to  us," 

"  To  me,  absolutely  necessary,"  replied  Cinq 
Mars,  "  for  I  stir  not  one  step  without  it." 

•'Nay,   the  king's   private  consent   to   you  is  ef 


course  necessary,"  answered  Fontrailles^  ^^  but  you 
surely  do  not  think  of  informing  him  of  the  treaty 
with  Spain.  After  the  affair  is  finished,  and  Riclie- 
lieu's  power  at  an  end,  Louis  will  see  the  necessi- 
ty of  it  5  but  such,  you  must  know,  is  his  hatred  to- 
wards Spain,  that  he  would  consider  the  very  pro- 
posal as  little  better  than  high  treason." 

"  I  am  not  yet  determined  in  that  respect,"  an- 
swered Cinq  Mars  ;  "  my  conduct  will  of  course  be 
decided  by  how  I  find  the  king  inclined.  I  like  no 
concealments,  where  they  can  be  avoided.  But  in 
thlB  first  place.  Villa  Grande  must  carry  the  treaty 
to—' 

Cinq  Mars  paused;  for,  as  he  spoke,  Chavigni 
turned  sharp  round  from  an  alley  close  by,  and  pass- 
ed on.  The  statesman  bowed,  en  passant,  to  the 
waster  of  the  horse,  who  but  slightly  returned  his 
salutation,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  Fontrailles 
doffed  his  hat  and  inclined  his  head  with  a  hypocrit- 
ical smile,  in  which  habitual  servility  was  strongly 
blended  with  triumphant  malice, 

Chavigni  spoke  jaot,  but  there  were  tv/o  or  three 
\<fords  caught  his  ear  as  he  passed,  which  at  once 
turned  his  suspicions  into  the  right  channel,  and 
stimulated  him  to  know  more.  We  have  already 
said  that  it  was  a  maxim  with  the  statesman,  that 
in  politics  nothing  is  mean  ;  and  he  would  have  felt 
not  the  slightest  hesitation  in  listening  to  the  con- 
versation of  Cinq  Mars,  could  he  have  done  so 
without  being  observed.  To  eflfect  this,  it  was 
necessary  to  take  a  large  round  in  order  to  approach 
the  alley  in  which  the  two  conspirators  walked 
Vfilhout  drawing  their  attention  to  himself;  but  as 
he  turned  to  do  so,  he  observed  the  master  of  the 
horse  separate  from  his  companion  and  come  to- 
wards the  spot  where  he  stood,  and  not  wishing  to 
put  Cinq  Mars  on  his  guard,  by  showin?  that  he 
was  watched,  he  turned  away  and  directed  his  steps 
towards  the  chateau. 

"  Must  carry  the  treaty — "  thought  Chavigni. — 
"  Who  .must  c^rry    the  tr.eaty  ?      If  I    could  hut 


174  RICHELIEU- 

have  heard  that  name,  I  should  then  have  had  the 
clew  in  my  hands.  However,  Monsieur  de  Cinq 
Mars,  you  shall  be  well  looked  to.  at  least — take 
care  that  you  trip  not — for  if  you  do,  you  fall." 
Thus  thinking,  he  passed  on  to  the  stnbles.  where 
his  horses  stood,  intending,  notwithstanding  the 
lateness  of  the  hour,  and  the  failing  light,  to  ride 
over  to  Tarascon  and  communicate  with  Richelieu, 
even  should  he  be  obliged  to  become  a  borrower 
of  the  night  for  a  dark  hour  or  twain.  His  grooms, 
hov/ever,  taking,  advantage  of  his  absence,  had  dis- 
persed themselves  in  various  directions  in  search  of 
amusement  to  pass  the  hours  in  the  dull  town  of 
Narbonne  5  and  consequently  Chavigni  could  find 
no  one  to  saddle  his  horses  for  the  proposed  jour- 
ney. 

Irritated  at  this  impediment,  he  was  about  to 
quit  the  stable  in  search  of  some  of  the  truant 
grooms,  when  he  again  perceived  Cinq  Mars  ap- 
proaching, accompanied  by  the  Italian  Vjjla  Grande. 
They  were  in  earnest  conversation,  and  Chavigni, 
knowing  that  Cinq  Mars  had  horses  lodged  nest  to 
his  own,  drew  back,  and  searching  for  a  crevice  in 
the  wooden  partition,  which  was  as  old  and  decay- 
ed as  he  could  desire,  he  applied  himself  to  listen 
to  all  that  passed  as  soon  as  the  master  of  the  horse 
and  his  companion  entered  the  adjoining  stable. 
The  first  words  he  heard  were  from  the  Italian. 
''You  know,  monsiejneur,"  said  he,  '•'  that  the  ut- 
most a  man  can  do,  is  to  die  in  defence  of  his 
charge  ;  and  that  will  I  do,  sooner  than  yield  to 
any  man  that  which  vou  intrust  to  my  hands." 

''  Well,  well,'  replied  Cinq  Mars,  ''there  is  no 
need  of  so  many  professions,  good  sir.  To-morrow 
morning  then,  at  day-break,  you  set  out.  That  is. 
the  horse — mind  you  use  him  well,  but  spare  not 
his  ?peed.  Salute  the  noble  duke  on  my  part  with 
all  kindness  and  love.  At  nine  you  come  for  the 
treaty  :  but  mark  that  you  keep  your  time,  for  at 
ten  I  must  be  with  the  king."' 

"But   Monseigneurj  monseigneur !"  cried  Villa 


aicHELiEiy.  1t4^ 

Graad^,  as  Cinq  Mars  turned  to  leave  him  }  ♦'  per- 
haps your  lackeys  will  not  let  me  have  the  horse," 

"  Well  then,  when  you  come  to  night/'  replied 
the  grand  ecuyer,  "  you  shall  have  an  order  for 
him." 

"  Now  then,  your  secret  is  in  ray  power,"  thought 
Chavigni,  as  Cinq  Mars  and  his  companion  left  the 
spot.  "  Monsieur  de  Villa  Grande,  I  will  instantly 
make  out  an  order  for  your  arrest  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, and  save  you  the  trouble  of  your  journey.  Sa- 
lute the  noble  duke  !"  he  continued,  meditating  on 
the  words  of  Cinq  Mara—-'  What  duke  ?— It  must 
be  Gaston  of  Orleans— But  he  is  a  royal  duke— But 
we  shall  see,"  And  as  he  walked  on  towards  the 
chateau  he  bent  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  revolv- 
ing in  his  mind  the  various  plans  which  suggested 
themselves  for  withdrawing  his  patron  and  himself 
from  the  brink  of  that  political  precipice  on  wbigb 
they  stood 

His  thoughts,  however,  which  for  a  moment  wan- 
dered to  every  different  circumstance  of  his  situa- 
tion, seeking  among  the  many  dangers  that  sur- 
rounded  some  favorable  point  on  which  to  found  a 
hope,  were  all  suddenly  recalled  to  one  objecf,  by 
the  approach  of  Cardinal  Mazarin,  who  by  his  hur- 
ried step  and  anxious  countenance  appeared  to  be 
troubled  by  some  unforeseen  event. 

Notwithstanding  their  being  linked  in  one  cause, 
notwithstanding  their  present  interests  drawing  to- 
gether, notwithstanding  all  the  apparent  friendship 
that  existed  between  them,  Chavigni  looked  upon 
the  cardinal  as  one  who  with  less  zeal  had  rivalled 
him  in  the  favor  of  Richelieu,  and  who  with  lesf 
talent  had  inainuated  himself  as  much  into  the  af- 
fairs of  government ;  and  Mazarin,  although  oblig- 
ed to  coalesce  with  Richel'eu's  favorite,  looked  for- 
ward to  the  day  when  the  struggle  for  pre-eminence 
between  them  would  come  to  a  climax,  and  009 
would  rise  upon  the  ruin  of  the  other  :  and  he  saw 
clearly  that  when  that  day  did  arrive,  all  his  subtlety 
would  hardly  qualify  him  to  compete  with  the  bold 


176  RICIIKLILU. 

mind  and  vigarous  talents  cf  Chavigni,  unless  he 
could  in  the  first  instance  gradually  acquire  for 
himself  such  a  superiority  of  interest,  as  t"  enable 
him  to  command  rather  than  contend  for  the  high- 
est station. 

The  natural  effect  of  these  rorfiirting  interests 
was  a  feeling  of  jealous  suspicion  in  the  mind  of 
each,  which  in  Mazarin  only  appe;-;red  by  tlie  care 
he  took  to  strengthen  his  influence  wherever  it  was 
most  opposite  to  that  of  Ciiavigni  ;  while  at  the 
same  time,  he  showed  hif?  fcllow-statesm^.n  an  out- 
ward respect  rmd  deference  almost  amounting  to 
servility.  But  on  the  other  part,  Ciiavigni's  hasty 
disposition  made  his  dislike  more  apparent,  though 
he  took  no  means  of  injuring  liis  ri\al. 

As  they  approached  each  other,  the  cardinal 
made  a  sign  to  the  page  who  attended  him  to  remain 
behind,  and  folding  the  train  of  hjs  robe  over  his 
arm,  he  advanced  quickly  to  Chavigni,  embracing 
him  with  the  greatest  Eemblance  of  attachment. 
"  My  excellent  friend,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  have 
sought  YOU  every  where  :  let  me  Leg  you  to  fly  in- 
stantly to  Tarascon,  or  all  cur  hopes  arc  ruined.*' 

'■  Jn  truth,"'  replied  Charigni.  not  atlov.ing  Maza- 
rin to  explain  the  motives  of  his  request  ;  "  your 
eminence  requires  what  I  rr.n  hardly  comply  with^ 
as  I  have  but  now  got  business  on  my  hands  which 
nred.ssi'me  lime  to  manage.  But  may  I  crave  ihe 
object  which  would  be  pained  by  my  going  to  Ta- 
rascoji  ?  1  should  think  that  he  who  could  fttay 
two  hostile  arniies  on  the  point  of  baitle,  was  fully 
sufficient  to  any  strolre  of  policy." 

There  was  a'sarcasiic  smile  on  the  lip.of  Chavig- 
ni. as  he  alluded  to  the  peace  which  Mazarin  had 
procured  at  Gazal,  at  the  m"mcnt  wlirn  the  Frtnch 
and  Spanish  armies  were  about  to  engace  ;  but  the 
cardinal  Nvould  see  only  ihe  compliment.  "  You 
are  too  kind,"  replied  he;  "but  in  this  instance, 
you  only  can  succeed  ;  you  only,  I  fee!  assured — 
and  that  not  without  the  exertion  of  all  your  influ- 


RICHELIEU.  .177 

ence — can  prevent  the  cardinal  prime  minister  from 

sending  his  resignation  to  the  king." 

'•  His  resignation  !'"  exclaimed  ChaV.igni,  starting 
back  will)  vnfeigntd  astonishment,  "in  ib.e  name 
of  He-aven.  wiiat  do  you  mean  V 
i  "1  mean  this,  Chavigni,  '  replied  Mazarin.  "(hat 
unless  you  -reach  Taraecon  before  daylight  to- 
morrow morning,  and  use  every  argument  in  your 
power  to  produce,  the  courier,  wlio  bears  the  offi- 
cial resigr.ition  of  his  Eminence  of  Richelieu,  wiH 
have  set  out  for  this  place.  I  saw  the  paper  sign- 
ed to-day,  with  my  own  eyes,  before  I  came  away  j 
and  all  that  my  utmost  entreaties  could  j/ain  was, 
that  it  should  be  delayed  till  to  morrow  m(  rjiiiig,  in 
hopes  of  your  arrival  before  that  time.  His  emi- 
nence feels  convinced  that  the  king's  fav^r  and  liis 
own  power  are  lost  forever  ;  and  in  truth  I  begin  to 
think  so  too." 

"  Madness  and  folly  '."exclaimed  Chavigni,  strik- 
ing his  hand  against  his  lorehead  with  vexation. 
''  Madness  an'!  tblly  ! — Rasc.il,  saddle  me  a  horse," 
he  continued  to  a  groom,  who  now  loitered  into  the 
court  with  that  sort  of  slow  indifferent  air  which 
would  put  an  angel  in  a  passion.  "  Where,  in  the 
name  of  all  the  devils,  have  you  been  lingering  ? 
Pardon  me,  your  eminence — but  I  am  vexed.  1  did 
not  think  his  great  mind  was  so  overthrown.. — Sad- 
dle me  a  horse,  I  say.  Slave,  nmst  you  stand 
eaves-dropping  ?  Better  you  had  been  born  deaf 
than  overhear  my  cimversation.  There  are  such 
things  as  oubliettes  to  cure  listeners.  Saddle  me  a 
horse,  I  say.'* 

"  Will  you  not  take  so'ne  of  my  servants  with 
you  ?"  said  iJ/azarin  ;  "  thpy  are  all  in  readiness." 

"  No.  no,"  replied  Chavigni,  •'  I  go  alone.  Do 
not  let  it  get  abroad  that  i  am  gone,  I  will  be  back 
betimes  to-morrow." 

"  You  had  better  take  one  servant,  at  least,"  said 
the  cardinal.  "  The  roads  are  not  safe.  It  is  dan- 
gerous." 

"  Dangerous !"    exclaimed    Chavigni.     "   Who 


17S-  RICHELIEU. 

thinks  of  danger  when  his  all  is  at  stake  ?  Your 
eminence  has  a  great  regard  for  human  lives,  I 
know — for  mine  more  especially.  But  depend  up- 
on it,  I  shall  come  home  safe  to-mor  ovv,  though  I 
go  alone  to-night.  Now,  sir,''  he  continued  to  the 
groom,  who  led  forth  a  strong  black  hunter  for  hia 
service,  "  girt  up  the  saddle  a  little  tighter  :  ua- 
buckle  that  cross  from  his  poitral ;  I  am  neither  go- 
ing on  a  pilgrimage  nor  a  procession." 

And  now,  walking  twice  round  the  horse  to  see 
that  all  the  caparisons  were  in  right  order,  he 
sprang  into  the  saddle,  and  dashins  his  rowels  into 
the  hunter's  flank,  galloped  out  of  the  court-yard, 
bowing  with  a  smile  as  he  passed  by  Mazarin,who 
started  back  a  step,  as  the  horse's  feet,  in  the  rapidi- 
ty of  its  course,  struck  fire  with  the  stones  of  the 
pavement. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Which  shows  how  a  king  made  reparation,  and  what  came  of  if. 

While,  as  we  have  seen,  Chavigni  galloped  off 
towards  Tarascon,  forgetting  in  the  agitation  pro- 
duced by  the  tidings  of  Mazarin,  to  take  those 
measures  which  he  had  proposed  in  regard  to  Villa 
Grande,  Cinq  Mars  returned  direcllv  towards  the 
palace,  or  rather  the  house  which  had  been  convert- 
ed into  a  palace  for  the  king's  use.  It  was  one  of 
those  old  buildings  whic'i  at  that  time  were  com- 
mon in  France,  and  which  even  now  are  often  to 
be  met  with  in  cities  where  the  remains  of  ancier.t 
splendor,  left  alone  to  the  less  destructive  power  of 
time,  have  not  been  demolished  by  the  violence  of 
turbulent  times,  or  the  still  more  inveterate  enmity 


RICnKL[EW  179 

of  modern  improvement.  The  whole  front,  vvith 
the  two  octagonal  towers  at  the  sides,  and  the  long 
corridors  on  the  right  and  left  hand  of  the  court, 
were  ornamented  with  a  multitude  of  beautiful 
arabesques  and  bas  reliefs.  These  last,  the  bas  re- 
liefs, entirely  covered  the  principal  fa9ade  of  the 
building,  and  offered  a  number  of  pictures  in  stone, 
representing  in  some  parts  battles  and  triumphs, 
and  in  others  displayiug-  the  humbler  and  more 
peaceful  subjects  of  pastoral  life  and  reliffious  cere- 
monies. Among  the  rest  was  one  medallion  which 
caught  the  attention  of  Cinq  Mars  3  and  as  the  fail- 
ing light  prevented  him  from  seeing  it  where  he 
stood,  he  approached  to  observe  it.  The  chisel  of 
the  sculptor  usurping  the  place  of  the  pencil,  had 
there  portrayed  a  landscape  with  a  flock  of  sheep 
pasturing  quietly  by  the  side  of  a  brook,  while  a 
shepherd  appeared  sleeping  under  a  hill,  down 
which  a  wolf  was  seen  stealing  upon  the  flock. 
Underneath  was  written  in  old  gotliic  characters, 
Eveillez  rows,  le  loup  s'appioche. 

Cinq  Mars  smiled  as  he  read  it,  applying  the 
warning  to  himself.  '•'  Let  him  come/'  said  he, 
thinking  of  Richelieu  ;  "he  will  be  caught  him- 
selt.'"'  So  saying,  he  turned,  and  entering  the  pal- 
ace, retired  to  his  own  apartments.  He  had  not  re- 
jnained  there  long,  however,  before  he  was  once 
more  joined  by  Fontrailles.  '^  Follow  me  quick. 
Cinq  Mars,"  cried  the  conspirator  j  the  king  asks 
for  you.  Now  is  the  moment  to  speak  to  him. 
He  thinks  that  his  peevishness  hurt  you  this  morn- 
ing, and  he  is  v/illing  to  make  atonement." 

itmaybewell  supposed  that  Cinq  Mars  lost  na 
time  in  following  his  companion  up  the  great  stair- 
case to  the  king's  apartments.  It  was,  indeed,  as 
Fontrailles  had  said.  Since  his  return,  Louis  had 
enjoyed  an  hour  of  repose,  which  cleared  from  hia 
mind  the  irratability  induced  by  fatigue,  and  made 
him  reproach  himself  for  the  unkindness  he  had 
Bhown  to  one  so  devotedly  attached  to  him  as  the 
master  of  the  horse.    The   remembrance  of  it  op- 


180  RICHtLIED. 

pressed  liim,  and  he  sent  for  bis  favorite,  not  in- 
deed to  apologize,  but  to  wipe  away  the  impress- 
ion that  his  irratability  had  caused,  by  more  than 
usuul  kindness  and  familiarity.  The  two  conspira- 
tors found  Louis  seated  in  a  cabinet,  which,  being 
filaced  in  one  of  the  towers  partook  of  its  octangu- 
ar  form.  The  walls  were  wainscotted  with  dark 
carved  oak,  and  even  the  plafond  was  all  of  the 
same  gloomy-coloured  material,  except  a  massy 
gUt  cornice  and  projecting  rose  in  the  centre,  from 
which  hung  a  single  silver  lamp,  the  ra^s  of  which, 
falling  on  the  figure  of  the  king  beneath,  gave  an 
additional  paleness  to  his  worn  but  fine  counte- 
nance, and  slightly  touching  upon  his  plain  black 
velvet  suit,  shone  full  on  the  richly  illuminated 
book  in  which  he  had  been  reading. 

Louis  raised  his  eyes  as  Fontrailles  entered,  and 
then  turning  them  full  on  the  noble  countenance  of 
Cinq  Mars  who  followed,  a  pleased  smile  beamed 
for  a  moment  on  his  lip,  and  he  exclaimed,  "  Well, 
Cinq  Mnrs.  art  thou  Nimrcd  enough  to  hunt  ag;un 
to-morrow  after  our  misfortu;  es  of  to-day  ?  Conoe 
in,  Monsieur.de  Fontrailles,"  he  continued,  seeing 
that  Fontrailles  remained  near  the  door,  hesitating 
whether  he  should  retire  or  not,  now  that  he  had 
done  the  king's  bidding  in  summoning  the  grand 
ecuyer.  **  Come  in,  I  pray — Sit  you  down,  gentle- 
men— it  is  the  king's  request  j  you.  Cinq  Mars, 
here — Monsieur  de  Fontrailles,  there  is  a  seat. 
Now,"  he  continued,  glancing  his  eye  round  as  the 
light  of  the  lamp  gleamed  faintly  on  their  several 
countenancos-r-"  now  we  look  like  some  secret 
triumvira'e  met  to  decide  the  fate  of  nations." 

"  And  that  might  be  too,"  replied  Cinq  Mars  ; 
"your  majesty  to  command  and  we  to  execute." 

The  king  took  no  notice,  but  went  on  with  what 
he  had  himself  been  saying  :  "  There  js  Cinq  Mars 
looks  like  a  noble  prince,  and  Fontrailles  like  a 
wily  minister,  and  I — 1  believe,"  he  continued 
laughing,  "  I  have  left  myself  no  place  but  that  of 
secretary." 


RlCHELIEa  181 

"  Alas  ''  said  Cinq  Mars  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  alas  I 
that  there  should  be  any  man  in  your  majesty's  do- 
minions more  a  king  than  yourself." 

Fonlrailles  and  the  king  both  started  ;  and  the 
conspirator  internally  pronounced  "  all  is  lost," 
while  Cinq  Mars  himself,  who  liad  spoken  without 
thought,  only  felt  the  imprudence  of  his  speech 
when  it  was  beyond  recall. 

"  Cinq  Mars/  Cinq  Mars  \"  cried  Louis,  "  that  i* 
a  daring  speech ; — but  I  know  it  proceeded  from 
your  love  for  me.  and  therefore  I  pardon  it.  But  I 
will  tell  you  that  no  man  is  more  a  king  in  Francjj 
Chan  I  am."* 

'^  I  crave  your  majesty's  gracious  pardon,"  repli-- 
ed  the  master  of  ihe  horse.  "If  I  have  oHended 
your-majesty,  it  was  from  love  for  you  alone  that  I 
spoke.  My  words  were  bolder  than  my  thoughts, 
and  I  only  meant  to  say  that  I  could  wish  to  see  my 
monarch  show  himself  that  great  king  which  be 
naturally  rs.  I  would  fain  see  the  staff  of  command 
withdrawn  from  one  who  abuses  it." 

"Cinq  Mars,"  answered  the  king,  "that  staff  is 
in  my  own  hand.  It  was  but  lent,  my  friend  ;  and 
it  is  now  resumed." 

The  master  of  the  horse  paused  for  a  moment, 
not  exactly  certain  how  far  he  could  rely  upon  the 
king's  good  humor,  which  he  had  already  tried  so 
incautiously,  and  turned  his  eyes  towards  Fontrail- 
les,  as  if  for  counsel. 

"  Speak,  Cinq  iliars,"  said  Louis,  seeing  his  hesi» 
tation,  "  !?peak  boldly,  and  fear  not;  for  I  fully  be- 
lieve that  all  your  wishes  are  for  my  service,  and  I 
would  fain  hear  the  voice  of  those  that  regard  me 
with  r.ffection,  rather  than  for  their  own  interest} 
and  one  of  these  do  1  hold  you  to  be." 

"Your  majesty  does  me  justice,"  replied' Cinq 
ifcfars.  "Let  me  not  offend  yon  then,  when  J  say 
that  the  power  you  lent  is  scarcely  resumed  while 
the  title  under  which  it  was  enjoyed  remains.  The 
Cardinal  Duke  of  Richelieu,  my  liege,  is  s-till  prime 
minister  to   France.    He   has' still   all  the   power 


i82  RiOiiiii.lti.o. 

(though  not  exercised),  the  revenues,  the  offices, 
Our  soldiers  are  fighting  at  his 'command,  our  prov- 
inces are  governed  by  his  creatures,  our  Jiigh  posts 
are  filled  by  his  friends.  He  has  an  army  for  his 
servants,  and  more  than  the  riches  of  a  prince.  Why 
not — oh,  why  not,  sire  break  tiic  enchanters  wand 
Ihat  gave  him  so  much  sway,  and  sweep  away  the 
hordes  that  prey  upon  the  state,  like  swarms  of  tiies 
upon  a  slain  deer  ?  Why  not  direct  the  operations 
of  your  troops  yourself,  and  let  the  armies  of  France 
be  the  armies  of  the  king,  and  net  of  Kichelieu  ? 
Why  not  chase  from  your  councils  a  man  who  has  so 
often  abused  the  generous  confidence  of  his  sover- 
eign, and.  make  him  disgorge  tiie  ill-gotten  wealth 
which  he  has  wrung  from  the  hearts  of  your  peo- 
ple V 

As  he  spoke,  Cinq  .'iars  grew  warm  with  his  sub- 
ject ;  liis  eye  sparkled,  his  arm  was  extended  with 
that  wild  and  graceful  energy  for  which  he  was  con- 
spicuous 5  his  words  ti.Aved  uninterrupted,  with  all 
the  eloquence  of  enthusiasm,  and  his  fine  and  prince- 
ly feaiiires  acquired  a  new  and  striking  expression, 
while  animated  in  the  cause  of  his  country's  liber- 
ty, he  pleaded  against  the  tyrant  who  had  oppressed 
both  king  and  people.  Louis  gazed  on  him  at  first 
as  on  one  inspired  ;  but  as  a  host  of  consequences 
crowded  on  his  mind,  threatening  him  witij  a  thou- 
sand vague  and  unsubstaniial  dangers,  he  placed  his 
hands  before  his  eyes,  and  remained  for  some  mo- 
ments in  deep  thought. 

"  Jly  friend,"  said  he  at  len<7th,  "what  is  it  you 
would  have  mc  do  ?  This  ra.an — this  bad  man  if 
you  will — but  still  this  great  man — is  like  an  oak 
who?e  roots  are  deep  in  the  e:»rth  j  you  mr.y  hew 
them  asunder  one  by  one,  Ixit  it  requires  a  giant's 
strength  to  pluck  tiie  tree  up  at  once.  Richelieu's 
pov.er  may  We  taken  from  him  gradually  ;  but  to  at- 
tempt wh.at  you  proporc,  v.ouid  instantly  cause  a 
rebellion  among  my  subject-!.  He  has  so  many  who 
depend  upon  him  j  he  has  .so  many  that  are  allied 
to  ])im — " 


RICHELIEU.  183 

"  VViiat?''  e:£clairned  Cinq  Mars,  "  shall  it  be  said 
that  King  Louis  was  afraid  to  dismiss  his  own  min- 
ister !" 

"  Not  afra'd  for  myself,  ulr,"  replied  the  king, 
somewhat  sharply  3  "  but  afraid  of  bringing  the  mis- 
eries of  civil  war  upon  my  people' 

Perceiving  that  Cinq  Mars  was  urging  the  king  too 
impetuoualy,  Fontrailles,  who  had  hitherto  remained 
silent,  now  joined  in  the  conversation  in  a  soil  insin- 
uating tone,  calculating  to  remove  any  newly  raised 
irritation  from  Louis's  mind.  "  All  danger,  sire/' 
said  he,  still  laboring  to  quiet  the  king's  fears  without 
opposing  his  opinion, ''  all  danger,  which  mijit  other- 
wise be  imminent,  could  easily  be  cbviated,  by  com- 
manding the  noble  Duke  of  Bouillon — " 

At  the  name  of  the  Duke  of  Bauillon,  Louis  made 
an  impatient  mot-on  with  his  band.  "  He  is  Spanish 
at  his' heart,"  said  he  j"  that  Duke  oif  Bouillon  is 
Spanish,  rank  Spanish.  But  what  of  him,  iJionsieur 
Fontrailles  V      '    ♦ 

"  Believe  me,  my  liege,"  replied  Fontrailles,  the 
Duke  of  Bouillon,  whom  I  know  well,  is  not  so  much 
a  friend  to  Spain  as  he  is  an  enemy  to  Richelieu, 
Remember,  sire,  how  he  is  linked  with  the  Prince  of 
Orange,  the  sworn  adversary  of  Spain." 

Louis  shook  his  head  doublingly.  '•  But  what  of 
him,  Fontrailles  7     Come  to  the  point," 

"  Only  this,  sire,"  said  Fontrailles.  "The  duke 
commands  an  army  in  Italy  devoted  to  your  majes- 
ty's service  ;  but  permit  me  or  Cinq  Mars  to  give 
him  private  orders  in  your  name  to  march  them  in- 
to France,  and  who  shall  dare  to  murmur  at  your 
royal  will  V 

"  Why.  that  might  Lc  done,  it  is  true,"  answered 
Louis  ',  ''but  1  am  afraid.7/iongrfl?3cZ,"  lie  ccntinued, 
applying  to  Cinq  Mars  ihc  term  by  which -he  dis- 
tinguished him  in  his  kindest  and  most  familiar  mo- 
ment— "  I  am  afraid,  men  grand,  that  thou  art  n 
keen  huntsman  and  a  good  soldier,  thou  woulds* 
make  but  a  sorrv  minister." 

"  I  ministPr!"  cxchuimrd  the  grand  ecoyer  j  "God 


184  niCHELIEC, 

forbid  !  jXo.  no,  my  lord  !  never  did  such  athought 
cross  my  imagination.  Believe,  sire,  I  had  no  view 
of  personal  aggrandizement  in  the  proposal  I  sub- 
mitted to  your  mfijesty.'^ 

"  But  if  you  take  from  Richelieu  his  office,  whom 
do  you  wish  to  substitute  in  his  place  ? '  demanded 
Louis;  "someone  must  be  minister.'' 

'•  True,  my  heie  3  but  are  there  not  thousands 
well  fitted  for  the  post  V  said  Cinq  Mars—'-  Politi- 
cians as  deep,  but  more  humane  than  Richelieu — 
Men  who  can  govern,  and  yet  not  tyrannize  ?  I  will 
undertake  to  find  such  a  one  for  your  majesty,  and 
yet  remain  myself  fully  satisfied  with  being  the 
humble  friend  of  my  royal  master,  and  the  sincere 
well-wisher  of  my  native  counfry.  But  let  me  or- 
der, in  y  ur,  name,  the  Duke  of  Bouillon  to  march 
into  France  5  and  then,  provided  with  sufficient  for- 
ces to  disarm  this  usurping  minister,  and  overawe 
rebellion,  your  own  royal  will|phall  be  your  only 
guide." 

"  At  present,"  said  Fontrailles,  "  the  king's  love 
for  his  people  operates  in  two  opposing  directions, 
making  him  anxious  to  relieve  them  from  the  bur- 
den under  which  they  groan,  yet  fearful  of  throwing 
a  portion  of  them  into  rebellion.  But  by  the  pres- 
ence of  the  duke's  army,  the  minister  might  be  re- 
moved without  endangering  the  tranquillity  of  the 
realm." 

"True,'"  said  Louis  ;  '"'true.  Monsieur  de  Fon- 
trailles, you  say  right ;"  and  placing  his  hand  before 
his  eyes,  the  king  thought  for  a  moment,  stru;:gling 
inwardly  to  exert  the  powers  of  liis  mind,  and  call 
up  sufficient  resolution  to  deliver  hims^f  from  t!>e 
tliraldom  in  vvhi.f;h  he  had  so  long  been  held.  But 
danger?,  and  doubts,  and  difficulties  swam  before 
his  mental  vision, like  motes  dancing  in  the  su"beam; 
and  never  destined  in  lit'c  to  overcome  his  long-en- 
couraged inaclivi-y,  ho  strove  to  cast  the  resjKinsi- 
bility  troin  himself.  '•  Well,  well,',  exclaimed  he, 
"Cinq  iTiars,  you  shall  decide  it;  1  will  leave  the 
conduct  of  it  all  to  you.     Bat   beware  that  you  do 


RICHELIEU.  185 

do  not  bring  the  miseries  of  civil  war  upon  my  king- 
dom j  for  be  assured  that  if  you  do,  I  will  require 
it  of  you  deeply — It  is  your  own  seeking,  and  the 
consequences  be  upon  your  own  head." 

"  Let  it  be  so,  then,  my  liege,"  cried  Cinq  Ma.ra, 
kissing  the  emaciated  hand  of  the  feeble  monarch  } 
"  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  France  and  my  sove- 
reign are  not  soon  freed  from  the  cloud  that  has  so 
long  overshadowed  them  both." 

"  Well,  well,''  said  Louis,  "  we  will  trust  in  God 
for  the  event.  But  heware  of  Bouillon}  Cinq  Mars, 
he  is  rank  Spanish  at  his  heart.  And  now,  gentle- 
men, to  bed,  for  we  must  rise  in  time  for  our  sport. 
But,  in  truth,  I  fear  I  shall  not  hunt  much  longer— 
the  body  fails  me,  Cinq  Jiars,  though  I  was  once  a 
thing  of  strength,  as  thou  art." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

How  Chavig-ni  rode  fifty  miles  to  riile  back  again. 

While  these  schemes  for  the  downfall  of  his  pa- 
tron were  iroing  forward  at  Narbonne,Chavigni  spur- 
red on  rapidly  towards  Tarascon,  where  the  falling 
minister  lay  sick,  both  in  body  and  in  mind.  Besides 
the  personal  attacliment  of  the  statesman  to  Riche- 
lieu, who  had  formed  his  fortunes,  and  led  him  in 
the  way  to  greatness,  every  consideration  of  his 
own  interest  bade  him  oppose  the  resignation  of  the 
cardinal,  which  he  clearly  saw  would  bring  inevita- 
ble destruction  upon  all  persons  connected  with  the 
existing  ministry. 

|@He  had  long  perceived  that  a  powerful  party  was 
forming  against  Richelieu,  especially  since  his  ab- 
sence and  illness  gave  facility  to  their  operations. 
All  Chavigni'a  talents  and  influence  had  been  exert- 

vor..  u.        13 


l^S  RICHELIEU- 

ed  to  oppose  them  ;  but  that  the  cardinal  would  re- 
sign his  high  office  he  had  never  suspected  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  therefore  the  tidings  brought  by  Mazarin 
came  upon  him  like  a  thunder-stroke,  taking  from 
him  all  faculty  of  thought,  but  on  that  one  thing. 
He  was  well  aware  too,  that  it  was  no  easy  task  to 
turn  Richelieu  from  his  purpnse3  and  as  he  rode  on 
his  mind  was  solely  occupied  by  a  thousand  tumul- 
tuous and  ill-digested  plan.-.,  for  preventing  the  eie- 
cution  of  what  the  cardinal  designed. 

Daylight  set  in  the  west,  and  night  fell  heavily 
over  the  earth  without  exciting  a  thought  in  the  bo- 
som of  Chavigni}  for  the  irritation  of  his  feelings 
took  away  all  sensation  of  bodily  fatigue.and  almost 
all  attention  to  external  objects,  till  at  length  the 
failing  pace  of  his  horse  showed  him  that  he  at 
least  must  have  rest ;  and  accordin;ily  he  paused  for 
a  short  space  at  a  little  village,  a  few  leagues  from 
Tarascon,  in  order  to  refresh  his  beast.  But  even 
here  the  agitation  of  his  mind  p-evented  him  fom 
Becking  any  repose  himself,  and  he  continued  walk- 
ing up  and  down  before  the  little  auberge,  for  the 
time  that  he  was  thus  compelled  to  remain. 

It  was  considerably  past  miduiglit  when  Chavigni 
arrived  at  the  residence  of  the  minister,  On  enter- 
ing the  court-yard,  all  was  in  darkness,  except 
where,  in  one  spot,  a  light  was  seen  burning  in  the 
chamber  of  the  invalid,  and  throwin;:?  dark  across 
the  window  the  bent  shadow  of  a  sleeping  atten- 
dant. The  statesmanjfastened  his  horse  to  one  of  the 
iron  hooks  in  the  cojrr-yard,  and  advanced,  intend- 
ing to  make  himself  heard  by  some  one  within,  but 
he  found  the  grooms,  grown  negligent  during  tiieir 
lord's  sickness,  had  Jefl  the  door  unfastened,  and 
pushing  it  with  his  hand,  it  readily  gave  way.  •'■  It 
is  like  his  fate,"  thought  Chavigni  ;  "  while  he  is 
ill  and  sleeping,  the  gate  is  left  open,  and  any  one 
may  enter."' 

Passini"  onward  through  the  hall,  he  now  monnt- 
ed  the  grand  staircase,    lighted  by  a  lamp  that  had 


RIOHELIEUf  157 

been  l«ft  to  die  out  as  it  miglit,  and  approached  the 
room  where  the  cardinal  lay. 

The  door  of  the  antechamber  opened  stiffly,  but 
still  the  drowsy  attendant  did  not  awake ;  and  Cha- 
vigni  passed  on  into  the  bed-chamber  of  the  cardi 
nal,  without  any  one  being  aware  of  his  presence. 
"  Were  this  but  known,"  thought  the  statesman, 
"  how  many  assassins'  hands  would  now  be  arrned 
for  this  pne  man's  destruction  [" 

It  was  Richelieu  alone,  who.lyingin  feverish  rest- 
lessness, caught  the  sound  of  approaching  steps  ; 
and  there  was  a  sort  of  intensity  in  the  glance  which 
he  fixed  on  the  door  communicating  with  the  ante 
room,  which  seemed  to  say  that  his  judgment  of  the 
visiter's  purpose  was  not  very  favorable.  However 
that  might  be,  whether  from  the  recklessness  of  ill- 
ness, or  from  the  torpor  of  one  who  regards  the  fu- 
ture as  a  blank,  he  took  no  farther  notice  of  the 
sound  he  heard,  than  by  fixing  his  eyes  sternly  on 
the  door.  But  the  next  moment,  as  the  light  fell 
strongly  on  the  face  of  his  friend,  the  countenance 
of  Richelieu  brightened  with  a  smile  3  and  perceiv- 
ing that  ChavignL,  who  did  not  see  he  was  awake, 
approached  silently  towards  the  attendant  to  rouse 
him,  the  cardinal  pronounced  his  name  in  an  under 
tone,  and  beckoned  him  towards  his  bedside. 

"  It  is  grateful,"  said  Richelieu,  as  the  statesman 
drew  near,  "  to  find  that  even  declining  fortunes 
cannot  alienate  some  hearts.  You  have  seen  Maz- 
arin  I  suppose  ?" 

Chavigni  was  about  to  answer,  but  the  sound  of 
the  cardinal's  voice  had  awakened  the  attendant, 
who  was  now  gazing  about  in  no  small  alarm,  on 
perceiving  a  stranger  standing  by  the  minister's  bed- 
side. Richelieu,  however,  without  showing  any 
anger  at  his  negligence,  calmly  commanded  him  to, 
leave  them  ;  and  as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  ChJ- 
vigni  proceeded.  "1  have  seen  Cardinal  Mazarin, 
my  lord,  and  from  him  I  havCjilearned  a  piece  of 
news  which  grieves  me  most  deeply.  I  cannot  be- 
lieve that  illness  can  have  so  far  depressed  the  spir- 


188  RICHELIEU. 

its  of  your  eminence,  as  to  make  you  entertain  the 
thought  of  casting  from  you  all  those  high  honors 
which  you  have  so  long  enjoyed,  and  of  leaving 
France,  in  a  moment  of  her  greatest  peril,  to  be 
governed  by  the  hands  of  the  weak  and  the  design- 
ing." 

"  It  is  not  illness,  Chavigni,"^  replied  the  cardinal^ 
with  a  melancholy  shake  of  the  head.  "No!  but 
my  day  is  over.  The  power  has  passed  from  my 
hands,  and  it  only  remains  for  me  to  yield  the  name 
of  it,  before  that  too  is  taken  from  me  by  my  ene- 
mies." 

"Pardon  me,  your  eminence,"  said  Chavigni  : 
"but  indeed  the  power  is  not  gone  from  you.  Un- 
der whose  orders  are  our  armies  fighting  ?  Under 
whose  command  is  every  city  and  fortress  in  France! 
Is  it  the  character  of  a  brave  man,  to  yield  all  with- 
out a  struggle  ? — to  cast  away  the  sword  he  has  so 
long  wielded,  and  to  give  himself  bound  into  the 
hands  of  his  adversaries  V 

"  Mark  me,  Chavigni,"  said  Richelieu,  raising^ 
himself  upon  his  elbow,  •'  Louis  is  now  within  the 
distance  of  a  few  leagues.  He  knows  that  I  am  iil 
— perhaps  that  I  anv  dying;  and  yet,  by  no  sign  of 
common  courtesy  does  he  show  that  he  remembers 
me.  But  that  was  not  the  beginning.  1  saw  that 
my  power  was  gone,  when  he  dared,  in  the  face  of 
all  the  council,  to  annul  the  sentence  I  passed  on 
that  arrogant,  stiff-necked  Count  De  Blenau,  who 
had  the  hardihood  to  defy  the  utmost  extent  of  my 
power."  And  the  minister's  eyes  flashed  with,  the 
memory  of  his  anger. 

"'  Had  your  eminence  followed  ray  advice,"  re- 
plied Chavigni,  ,"  that  business  would  never  have 
occurred.  There  is  that  sort  of  gallant  magnanim- 
ity about  Claude  de  Blenau  which  carri'Ds  all  before 
It;  and  1  felt  assured  that  neither  fear  nor  interest 
would  ever  induce  him  to  disclose  any  thing  intrust- 
ed to  his  honor.  Depend  upon  it,  monseigneur, 
that  it  is  better  not  to  meddle  with|such  men,  when 
we  ran  avoid  it." 


1 


TRICHELIETT.  189 

•'  Well,  well,  sir/'  exclaimed  the  cardinal,  impa- 
tiently, "  without  doubt  you  were  quite  right  and  I 
was  quite  wrong.  But  do  not  teach  me  to  believe 
that  you  too,  Chavigni  lose  your  respect  for  my  per- 
son when  my  power  is  failing." 

"  Pardon  me,  your  eminence,"  replied  Chavigni, 
in  a  tone  of  deep  feeling,  ''you  wrong  me  much. 
Your  eminence  has  been  more  than  a  father  to  me. 
During  the  continuance  of  your  power  you  have  al- 
ways exerted  it  in  my  favor;  and  whether  it  re- 
mains with  you  or  not,  my  respect  and  my  affection 
will  never  fail  to  follow  you  in  every  situation  Be- 
lieve me,  monseigneur,  that  it  is  that  respect  and 
affection  which  brings  me  here  even  now,  to  peti- 
tion that  you  will  waive  your  intention  of — " 

"  Chavigni,  it  is  useless, '  interposed  the  cardinal, 
"  I  have  only  the  choice  left,  to  yield  it  of  my  own 
free  will,  or  to  have  it  wrenched  from  my  unwilling 
hand  Judge  which  is  the  wisest — ^judge  which  is 
the  best." 

•'  Were  that  certainly  the  case,"  said  Chavigni, 
thoughtfully. 

"  It  is  certainly  the  case,"  replied  the  minister. 
"  there  are  many,  many  combined  against  me : — 
singly,  they  are  but  reeds,  and  one  by  one  I  would 
.break  them  like  reeds;  but  united  together,and  with 
the  king  at  their  head," — ^and  he  shook  his  head  de- 
spairingly,— "  they  are  far  too  strong  either  for  you 
or  me !" 

"  But  could  no  means  be  found  to  separate  them  1 
Bethink  you,  monseigneur, — avarice,  revenge,  am- 
bition, might  sow  the  seeds  of  discord  among  them, 
und  give  them  like  sheep  into  our  hands." 

"  It  is  too  late,  my  friend  !"  replied  the  cardinal : 
"  it  is  too  late  !  Had  1  foreseen  it,  I  might  have  pre- 
vented their  combining.  1  might  have  crushed 
«ome,  and  bribed  others;  destroyed  the  powerful, 
and  overawed  the  timid.     But  it  is  now  too"  la^e  !" 

''  But  whom  does  your  eminence  think  particu- 
larly implicated  ?"  demanded  Chavigni. 

"  Oh,  there  are  many — many — many  !"  replied 


190  RIOHifLXEy. 

Richelieu,  withdrawing  the  thin  pale  hand  he  had 
stretched  over  his  face  as  he  finished  the  last  de- 
sponding words  "  too  late,"  probably  desirous  of  hi- 
ding the  motion  produced  by  the  conviction  that 
his  power  was  irretrievably  gone.  However,  when 
that  hand  was  removed,  his  countenance  showed  no 
traces  of  any  remaining  agitation*  "  There  are  many 
Chavigni,"  he  said  :  "there  are  ¥'endome,and  Bouil- 
lon, and  noisy  Beaufort,  and  turbulent  Gaston  of 
Orleans,  and  witty  Marsillac,  and  cool,  moralizing 
De  Thou,  who  has  so  often  dared  to  pry  into  my  ac- 
tions and  condemn  them  ;  then  there  is,  above  all, 
sly  Fontrailles,  and  Cinq  Mars,  whom  I — " 

'"  Ha!"  exclaimed  Chavigni,as  the  cardinal's  words 
recalled  to  his  mind  the  conversation  between  Cinq 
Mars  and  Fontrailles — "  I  had  forgot — like  an  idiot, 
I  had  forgot !'"  and  he  struck  his  clenched  hand  vio- 
lently against  his  brow,  as  if  he  sought  to  punish 
his  own  folly.  '•  But  it  is  not  yet  too  late,"  he  cri- 
ed, "it  is  not  yet  too  late." 

"  Forgot  what,  Chavigni  ?  '  demanded  the  cardi- 
nal, seeing  with  astonishment  the  emotion  which 
was  called  up  in  his  friend  by  the  remembrance  of 
so  great  an  oversight.  "  Forgot  what  ?  Too  late 
for  what  ?  What  is  it  moves  you  so  deeply  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,  your  eminence,'"'  replied  Chavigni, 
"  I  have  not  time  to  explain ;  only  1  have  to  ask  two 
favors.  The  first  is,  that  you  will  let  me  take  a 
stout  ho'se  from  your  stables  ;  mine  will  go  no  far- 
ther. The  next,^'"  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  greater 
composure,  but  still  one  of  earnest  entreaty — 'the 
next  is,  if  you  had  ever  a  regard  for  me — if  ever  I 
served  you  well  and  faithfully,  that  you  will  promise 
me  to  take  no  step  in  the  business  we  have  spoken , 
of,  till  my  return  ;  which  shall  be  before  lo-morrowj 
evening." 

"  It  can  make  but  little    difference     waiting    tillj 
that  time,'"  answered  the  cardinal.      ''  But  what  \% 
the  matter,  Chavigni?  What  is  it  agitates  you  thus?' 

"  Have  I  your    promise;    monseigneur  1"    .^skec 
Chavigni,  quickly. 


RICHELIEU.  1^1 

*•  You  have/'  said  Richelieu.  "  Out  of  regard  for 
you,  and  solely  because  you  ask  it,  I  will  suspend 
my  resolution  till  your  return.'' 

"  Well,  then,  God  protect  your  eminence  till  we 
meet  again  !''  exclaimed  the  statesman.  "  I  go  up* 
on  your  service  ;  and  it"  I  do  notsucceed,  1  care  not 
how  soon  my  head  may  be  brought  to  the  block,  as 
a  just  punishment  for  my  mad  forge ifulness."  Thus 
saying,  he  quitted  the  room,  and  descending  to  the 
stables,  called  up  the  grooms,  whose  sleepy  move- 
ments ill  accorded  with  the  rapid  emotions  of  his 
bosom.  Pso'.v  the  stirrups  were  net  long  ennugh, 
then  ths  girths  had  to  be  buckled  tighter,  then  the 
bit  was  mish.id,  and  then  the  crupper  could  not  be 
found.  At  length,  however,  the  horse  vvas  fully  pre- 
pared, and  calling  for  a  cup  of  wine,  Chavigni 
drained  it  to  the  bottom,  and  galloping  out  of  the 
court,  was  soi>n  once  more  on  the  road  to  iS'arbonne. 
But  it  was  in  vain  tliat  he  used  whip  and  spur  to 
arrive  at  that  town  before  the  hour  appointed  for  the 
Italian's  departure.  Ere  he  had  measured  half  the 
way,  the  day  rose  briirht  over  the  hills  before  him, 
and  clenching  his  liands.he  exclaimed  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  disappointment,  "  Too  late  !  I  am  too  late!" 
Still,  however,  he  went  on  at  full  speed, hoping  that 
by  sending  out  couriers  in  every  dltferent  direction 
he  might  yet  overtake  the  messenger. 

Every  one  who  has  ridden  from  Tarascon  to  Nar- 
bonne  must  remember  the  picturesque  beauties  of 
that  part  of  the  country.  At  the  spot  where  Cha- 
vigni had  now  arrived,  high  rocks  breaking  forth 
from  a  thick  covering  of  wood  skirted  his  way  on 
each  side,  and  having  ascended  to  the  top  of  the 
hill,  an  immense  valley  lay  before  him,  scattered 
with  forests  and  broken  into  a  thousand  inferior  rid- 
ges, some  of  which  bore  upon  their  summits 
the  steeple  of  a  village  church,  some  of  the  ruins  of 
those  ancient  to.vers  which  had  been  erected  in 
days  gone  by  to  delend  the|passes  from  the  neigh- 
boring Moors  of  Spain.  At  his  feet  thin  waves  of 
white  mist  floating  in  the   morning  light,   partially 


192  ^aOHELIEO. 

obscured  the  road  he  was  going,  till,  rising  out  of 
the  trees,  it  was  seen  winding  along  the  mountains 
on  the  other  side.  Chavigni  paused  for  a  moment 
to  trace  its  direction  3  and  as  he  did  so  his  eye  fell 
upon  the  figure  of  a  single  horseman,  descending 
into  the  valley  from  the  opposite  hill. 

"  Whom  have  we  here  V  thought  the  statesman, 
not  without  a  faint  hope  that  it  might  be  the  person 
he  sought.  Spurring  on  his  horse,  however,  he  rode 
forward  to  meet  him  ;  but  on  reaching  the  bottom 
of  the^descent,  the  figure  he  had  seen  from  above 
became  hidden  by  the  windings  of  the  road  among 
the  trees,  and  Chavigni's  heart  fluttered  lest  the 
horseman,  whoever  he  was,  might  have  taken  the 
other  road  which  turned  through  the  valley  to  the 
left. 

At  length,  however,  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet 
was  heard  approaching  quickly  towards  him,  and, 
certain  that  he  must  now  pass  that  way,  the  states- 
man drew  in  his  rein,  and  stood  with  his  eyes  in- 
tently fixed  npon  the  spot  where  the  road  verged 
iato  the  forest.  As  there  was  still  a  considerable 
descent  from  the  spot  where  Chavigni  paused  to  the 
bottom  of  the  valley,  the  sound  was  heard  for  a  long 
time  coming  nearer  and  nearer  before  any  one  ap- 
peared. At  length,  however,  the  horseman  came 
in  sight,  presenting  to  the  glad  eyes  of  the  states- 
man the  identical  figure  of  the  Italian,Villa  Grande, 
with  his  long  sword,  extensive  mustachios,  and  a 
pair  of  heavy  pistols  at  his  saddle  bow. 

Chavigni  doubted  not  that  to  possess  himself  of 
the  papers  which  the  Italian  carried,  would  require 
a  desperate  struggle,  but  without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation he  drew  his  sword,  and  galloped  on  to  attack 
him.  No  sooner  had  Villa  Grande  perceived  a  stran- 

fer  on  the  road  before  him,  than  he  reined  in  his 
orse  5  but  now,  as  Chavigni  rode  on  full  speed  to- 
wards him  with  a  menacing  attitude  and  drawn 
sword,  the  Italian,  in  his  terror,  conceived  at  once 
that  it  wag  a  robber,  and  throwing  himself  to  the 
ground  in  mortal  fear,'  he  fell  on  his  knees,exclaim- 


O    UICIIELIEU.  193 

ing,  *'  I  will  give  it  you  all — every  ducat,  only  spare 
my  life !" 

"  Rise,  rise  /  cowardly  villain  !"  cried  Chavigni, 
catching  the  bridle  of  the  Italian's  horse,  which 
was  starting  away  with  a  wild  toss  of  the  head,  as 
the  statesman  rode  up  5  "  rise,  Sir  Poltroon  !  do  you 
not  know  me  V 

"  Know  you  !  know  you  \"  exclaimed  Villa  Grande 
gazing-  wildly  at  Chavigni.  "  Oh,  monseigneur,  is 
it  you  ?  How  you  frightened  me  \"  But  Villa  Grande 
who  had  trembled  sufficiently  when  he  thought  it 
was  a  robber,  trembled  ten  times  more  than  ever  as 
he  recognised  the  statesman  j  and  he  could  scarce- 
ly find  strength  in  his  knees  to  raise  himself  from 
the  ground. 

"  Rise,  sir  !"  exclaimed  Chavigni,  impatiently  ; 
"  and  instantly  give  me  the  treaty." 

"  Treaty  !"  cried  Villa  Grande,  still  trembling,but 
endeavoring  to  put  on  a  look  of  astonishment. — 
"  What  treaty  does  monseigneur  mean  1  1  know  of 
no  treaty." 

"  Lying  slave  !''  exclaimed  Chavigni,  striking  him 
with  the  flat  side  of  his  sword  5  "  if  you  do  not  pro- 
duce it  within  ten  seconds  of  time,by  heaven  I  will 
cut  it  out  of  your  base  cowardly  heart !" 

"  But  if  I  do — "  said  the  Italian,seeing  there  was 
no  escape  left. 

i'  Come,  sir,"  cried  the  statesman  5  "  no  buts  for 
me.  If  you  stand  shuffling  one  minute  more.  1  will 
run  my  sword  through  you ,and  search  for  it  on  your 
carcass  myself." 

"  Well,  well  !  monseigneur,  I  see  you  know  it 
all,  and  therefore  it  will  be  no  stain  on  my  honor  if 
1  give  it  to  you." 

"  Honor  1"  cried  Chavigni,  with  a  scoff.  "  Come, 
sir,  the  treaty."    , 

Villa  Grande  approached  his  horse,  and  raising 
the  flap  of  the  saddle,  with  shaking  hands,  drew 
forth,  from  a  pocket  concealed  in  the  padding,  a 
large  paper  sealed  in  an  envelope.  Chavigni  caught 
it  eagerly  from  his  grasp,  and  running  his  eye   over 


194  RlCHIILIKi; 

the  address,  he  read. — '  ''To  Monseigneur  the  Duke 
de  Bouillon,  commander-in-chief  of  all  the  armies 
of  France,  warring  in  Italy.'  Ha  !"  continued  the 
statesman, '•  this  is  not  the  road  to  Italy.  What 
brings  you  here?"  and  he  turned  towards  Villa 
Grande.  But  while  the  statesman's  eyes  were  ii.\ed 
upon  tlie  paper,  the  wily  Italian  had  begun  to  creep 
towards  the  wood  ;  Chavigni,  however,  perceiving 
his  design,  caught  one  of  the  pistols  frcm  the  hor- 
se's saddle-bow,  and  pointing  it  towards  the  fugi- 
tive, soon  brought  him  back  again.  "Stand  you 
there,  sir,'"  said  he.  "Now  tell  lue  what  makes  you 
here,  when  this  packet  was  intended  for  Italy  ?" 

"  Why,  monseigneur — why — why — to  tell  the 
truth,  there  was  another  little  despatch  to  be  de- 
livered on  the  frontiers  of  Spain  ;  1  ere  it  is  5"  and 
diving  inio  a  deep  pocket  in  his  doublet,  he  produ- 
ced a  packet  smaller  than  the  other,  and  gave  it 
into  Chavigni's  hand.  *•' And  now,  monseigneur.  I 
have  freely  discovered  all  I  know,"  continued  Villa 
Grande,  "  1  hope  t.^atyou.  nir>nseigneur,  will  prom- 
ise me  your  protection  5  f»)r  if  the  other  party  get 
hold  of  me,  they  will  murder  me  to  a  certainty." 

Chavigni  made  no  answer;  but  without  any  "cere- 
mony broke  the  seals  of  the  two  packets,  and  pas- 
sing bis  horse's  bridle  over  Ms  arm  while  he  read 
them,  he  opened  the  treaty,  and  turned  to  the  list 
of  names  by  which  it  was  signed.  In  the  mean 
while,  Villa  Grande  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  him, 
watching  for  a  favorable  moment  to  escape,  if  the 
statesman's  attention  should  be  sufficiently  engaged 
to  allow  him  so  to  do. 

*'  Ah  1  here  I  have  them  fairly  written,''  proceed- 
ed Chavigni,  speaking  to  himself.  "Philip  the-jnost 
Catholic — OlivarezI — then  follow  Gaston  of  Or- 
leans ;  Cinq  Mars,  grand  ecuyer  ;  Fontraillcs  3 — and 
a  space — for  Bouillon  of  course.  Now  let  us  see 
the  letter  to  the  noble  duke  3'"  and  he  opened  the 
one  which  he  found  in  the  same  packet  with  the 
treaty.  But  as  he  read,  his  eye  fixed  with  painful 
earnestness  upon  the  paper,  and  the  color  fled  from 


RICHELIE«.  195 

his  eheek.  "God  of  heaven!  what  is  this?"  said 
he,  reading.  "  *  Though  I  doubt  not,  my  noble 
friend,  that  after  all  which  has  so  lately  passed,  you 
would  put  your  forces  in  motion  at  my  siirple  de- 
sire, the  king's  command  is  yet  higher  authority; 
and  tl)at  1  now  send  you,  to  march  with  all  speed  to 
the  frontier,  embarking  five  thousand  foot  at  Porto 
Longone,  to  land  at  Marselles.  All  this  in  case  the 
friends  and  adherents  of  Richelieu  should  attempt 
to  make  head  against  the  royal  authority.' — 

"  All  is  iost!'  muttered  Chavigni.  "But  let  U3 
see  the  whole,  at  least,  to  provide  for  our  own  safe- 
ty ;"  and  he  again  turned  to  the  paper,  which  pro- 
ceeded— •■  I  send  you  the  treaty  with  Spain  for  your 
signature,  which  is  especially  necessary  to  the  arti- 
cle relative  to  your  principality  of  Sedan.  The 
troops  of  his  Ca'holic  majesty  are  on  the  frontier, 
ready  to  march  at  our  command ;  but  I  have  been 
obliged  to  conceal  from  the  king  our  Spanish  con- 
nexion, as  his  hatred  to  that  country  is  as  great  as 
ever*" 

*'  I  have  you  /  I  have  you!  Monsieur  Cinq  Mars," 
exclaimed  Chavigni,  clasping  his  hands  with  joy. 
"  This  treaty  is  your  death-warrant,  or  I  know  not 
King  Louis. — Italian  scoundrel  !"  he  continued,turn- 
ing  to  look  for  Villa  Grande — "Ha!  the  slave  has 
escapr-d — that  must  not  be  3  he  were  the  best  wit- 
ness in  the  world  agaiostthem  j"  and  springing  from 
his  horse,  he  lied  him  to  a  tree  together  with  that 
of  the  Italian. 

While  Chavigni  had  been  reading,  with  all  his  at- 
tention fixed  upon  the  paper,  and  all  his  passion  ex- 
cited by  its  contents,  Villa  Grande,  watching^  his 
mt-ment,  had  crept  gradually  to  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  and  darted  into  a  narrow  path,  half  covered 
with  branches.  But  though  the  way  he  had  taken 
was  thus,  in  a  degree  concealed;  it  did  not  escape 
the  quick  eye  of  the  statesman  ;  and  as  the  motions 
of  the  Italian^  till  he  had  got  into  the  wood,  had 
been  necessarily  cautious,  in  order  not  to  call  his 
attention  3  Chavigni,  following  as  fast  as  lightning, 


196  RieHELiEU. 

soon  caught  the  sound  of  his  retreating  footsteps, 
reverberated  from  the  rocks  around.  As  he  advan- 
ced, he  called  loudly  to  the  Italian  to  stop,  and  that 
he  should  have  a  free  pardon;  but  Villa  Grande, 
trusting  to  the  distance  that  was  still  between  them, 
and  hoping,  if  he  could  elude  immediate  pursuit,  to 
be  able  to  escape  into  Spain,  continued  running  on 
while  Chavigni  as  perseveringly  followed,  threate- 
ning and  promising  by  turns,  but  alike  without  any 
effect. 

At  length  the  strength  of  the  Italian,  already  di- 
minished by  fear,  began  to  fail  entirely  ;  and  Cha- 
vigni found  that  the  distance  between  them  was  rap- 
idly lessening,  when  in  a  moment  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps, which  had  hitherto  guided  him,  ceased  en- 
tirely— a  cry  of  agony  reached  his  ear ;  and  running 
still  more  quickly  forward,  he,  too,  hod  nearly  been 
precipitated  over  the  edge  of  a  steep  crag,  which, 
in  the  hurry  of  his  flight,  the  unhappy  Italian  had 
not  noticed.  The  statesman's  first  impulse  was  to 
start  back,  for  he  was  on  the  very  brink  of  the  pre- 
cipice before  he  was  aware  ;  but  soon  recovering 
himself,  he  approached  the  edge,  and  looking  over, 
beheld  the  mangled  form  of  Villa  Grande  lying  on 
some  rough  stony  ground  at  the  bottom  of  the  rock. 

"  God  of  Heaven  !"  cried  Chavigni,  "  what  a  fall  I 
The  poor  wretch  must  surely  be  dead.  However, 
be  must  not  lie  there,  for  the  wolves  will  soon  be  at 
him  ;"  and  looking  round,  he  sought  for  some  way 
to  descend  the  rock.  It  was  a  considerable  time 
before  he  could  accomplish  his  object.but  at  length 
he  succeeded,  and  on  arriving  at  the  spot  where  \'il- 
la  Grande  lay  he  found  that  the  Italian,  in  his  flight 
had  taken  a  diagonal  path  through  the  forest,  which 
cut  off  a  large  bend  in  ,the  main  road,  and  joined  it 
again  by  a  zigzag  path  down  the  rock  at  some  dis- 
tance. Thus  the  spot  where  "N'illa  Grande  wr^s  then 
lying,  was  then  about  half  a  mile  from  the  place  at 
which  he  had  first  been  encountered  by  Chavigni,  if 
the  high  road  was  followed  3  but  by  the  path  through 
the  wood  the  distance  could  not  be  more  than  a  few 


RICHELIEU.  197 

hundred  yards.  Chavigni's  first  care  was  to  exam- 
ine the  body  of  the  Italian,  who  was  so  entirely  de- 
prived of  sense,  that  at  first  the  statesman  believed 
him  to  be  dead  :  but  in  a  moment  or  two  some  signs 
appeared  which  led  him  to  conclude  that  life  was 
not  completely  extinct ;  and  taking  him  in  his  arms 
he  carried  him  to  the  spot  w^here  the  horses  stood. 
Here  he  placed  him  on  the  stout  black  hunter  which 
Cinq  Mars  had  lent,  and  led  him  slowly  to  a  small 
town  about  a  mile  farther  on  the  road. 

It  has  been  already  stated,  that  hardly  was  there 
a  village  so  small  in  the  whole  extent  of  France  as 
not  to  be  furnished  wiih  one  or  more  of  those  agents 
of  Richelieu's  minute  policy,  whose  principal  duty 
consisted  in  communicating  every  thing  that  passed 
around  them  to  another  class  of  superior  agents, and 
also  to  facilitate  all  the  ^secret  operations  of  gov- 
ernment in  the  sphere  ascribed  to  them.  The  actu- 
al pay  received  by  these  men  was  but  small  j  but 
the  favor  shown  to  them  on  all  occasions,  and  the 
facilities  afforded  to  them  in  their  more  ordinary  em- 
ployments, put  them  above  comjjetetion  with  others 
in  the  same  class,  and  amply  rewarded  their  private 
services  ;  for  it  must  always  be  remembered  that 
their  connexion  with  the  government  was  iicld  as  a 
profound  secret,  and  consequently  they  always  were 
seen  to  exercise  some  open  trade,  which,  in  snost 
cases,  prevented  their  less  ostensible  employment 
from  being  even  suspected  by  their  neighbors. 

It  was  to  the  house  of  one  of  these  inferior  agents 
that  Ciiavigni  led  the  iiorse  charged  with  the  sense- 
less body  of  Villa  Grande  ;  and  having  commanded 
that  he  should  be  taken  in  and  placed  in  bed,  he 
himself  aided  in  endeavoring  to  recall  him  to  life, 
partly  from  the  natural  humanity  of  his  disposition, 
partly  from  those  political  considerations  which 
were^  ever  paramount  in  his  mind.  Villa  Grande,  if 
he  could  be  restored,  would  prove,  Chavigni  knew, 
too  excellent  a  witness  against  the  conspirators 
whom  he  had  served,  to  permit  of  his  life  being 
lightly  cast  away  ;  especially  as  it  was  evident,  that 


198  KICHELIEU. 

either  fear  or  bribery  would  induce  him  to  confesa 
any  thing;  but  even  had  it  not  been  for  this  reflec- 
tion, the  statesman's  natural  disposition  would  pr  b- 
ably  have  led  him  to  succour  the  unhappy  man,  in 
whose  misfortune  he  had  been  so  greatly  instru- 
mental. 

After  many  efforts,  Villa  Grande  once  more  began 
to  evince  that  the  vital  spark  was  not  yet  extinguish- 
ed •,  and  having  so  far  succeeded,  Chavigni,  upon 
whose  mind  a  thousand  subjects  of  deep  import 
were  pressing  every  moment  for  attention,  gave  di- 
rections to  the  agent  we  have  already  mentioned, 
to  show  every  attention  to  the  wounded  man,  and 
to  keep  him,  for  that  day,  at  his  own  house,  which 
was  situated  a  quarter  of  a  league  out  of  Limoux  j 
but  as  soon  as  night  came,  to  have  him  privately  re- 
moved to  Corneille,  at  which  place  a  surgeon  could 
be  more  easily  procured  from  Carcassonne  ;  and 
having  reiterated  the  most  strict  injunctions  to  keep 
the  whole  business  profoundly  secret,  lest  the  con- 
spirators should  learn  the  fate  of  their  envoy,  and 
take  their  measures  accordingly,  Chavigni  once 
more  turned  his  steps  towards  Tarascon,  to  recount 
to  Richelieu  the  events  of  the  dav. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


Which  w.s  wiiilen  expressly  to  prove  that  there  is  many  a  Slip 
between  ihe  Cup  and  the  Lip, 


It  was  the  sinrvll  clianel  of  St.  Catherine,  other- 
wise called  the  queen's  chapel,  attached  to  the  pal- 
ace church  of.  St.  Germain  de  Laye,  to  which  Po- 
tier,  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  proceeded  with  slow  steps 
fjom  the  door  of  a  private  communication  with  the 


RlCHELiEU.  199 

chateau,  on  a  niglit  in  October,  one  thousand  six 
hundred  and  forty-lwo.  He  was  preceded  by  two 
young  abbes,  carrying  lightted  lapers,  and  followed 
by  a  group,  whose  wliite  garments  spoke  that  they 
came  on  some  occasion  ot  joy.  The  first  of  these 
was  Anne  of  Austria,  with  her  eyes  animated,  and 
he"  countenance  glowing  with  the  interest  she  took 
in  every  thing  which  bore  the  least  appearance  of 
secrecy  or  romance.  Her  right  arm  was  passed 
through  that  of  the  Marchioness  de  Beaumor.t,who 
moved  on  with  a  calm,  rather  grave  countenance  ; 
while  on  the  ((Ueen's  left,  walked  a  young  lady  in 
the  first  gay  spring  of  life,  ever  and  anon  turning  a 
smiling,  playful  glance  behind  to  Pauline  de  Beau- 
mont, who,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Claude  de  Ble- 
nau,  followed,  agitated,  blusiiing,and  happy, towards 
the  altar  at  which  they  were  to  be  united  for  ever. 
Seguin,  the  queen's  physician,  and  Henri  de  La 
Mothe,  the  count's  page  were  admitted  as  witnesses 
to  the  ceremony ;  and  attendant  was  stationed  at 
the  door,  to  guard  ngainst  any  troublesome  devotee 
entering  the  church  during  the  time  it  was  thus  oc- 
cupied. 

The  idea  of  marrying  Pauline  de  Beaumont  pri- 
vately with  the  Count  de  Blenau,  had  entirely  orig- 
inated with  the  queen,  whose  passion  for  any  thing 
romantic  often  threw  both  herself  and  her  friends 
into  situations  of  great  danger.  In  the  present  in- 
stance, she  represented  to  Madame  de  Beaumont 
that  a  thousand  circumstances  might  occur  m  those 
unhappy  times,  to  tear  De  Blenau  .igain  from  her 
he  loved  ;  or  that  ihc  cardinal  might  postively  pro- 
hibit their  marriage,  and  then,  she  asked, who  would 
dare  to  oppose  him  ?  vvhereas  their  private  union 
wftuld  obviate  all  dilficulties,  and  incur  no  danger. 

Madame  do  Bcaiimout  made  many  objections, 
and  her  dauglUer  hesitated}  but  the  wishes  of  the 
queen  overcame  all  the  marchioness's  scruples } 
and  the  entreaties  of  De  Blenau  were  not  less  pow- 
erful with  Pauline. 

The  appoinled^night  being  arrived,  and  all  the 


200  ,RICHELIEU. 

arrangements  having  been  made  as  privately  as  pos 
sible,  Pauline,  as  we  have  said,  followed  her  mother 
and  the  queen  into  the  chapel  of  St.  Catherine. 
But  as  she  did  so,  there  was  a  sort  of  despondency 
fell  upon  her  that  she  could  not  accouot  for.  As 
she  leaned  upon  De  Blenau,  she  felt  that  she  was 
mosijiappy  in  being  united  to  him.  She  was  agitat- 
ed, it'  was  true,  but  still  it  was  natural  that  she 
should  be  so,  she  thought.  All  her  duties,  all  her 
ideas,  were,  b_v  one  single  word,  about  to  suffer  an 
entire  change,  yet  that  did  not  take  from  her  hap- 
piness. But  still  there  was  an  undefined  fear,  a 
sort  of  melancholy  presentiment,  which  weighed 
upon  her  spirits,  she  knew  not  why.  She  asked 
herself,  was  De  Blenau  less  kind  ?  Oh,  no .'  And 
as  the  thought  passed  through  her  mind,  she  raised 
her  eyes  for  a  moment  from  the  ground,  on  which 
they  had  been  beat,  and  turned  them  on  her  lover. 
In  so  doing,  they  met  the  lull,  soft,  affectionate 
gaze,  with  wrich  De  Blenau  was  at  that  moment  re- 
garding her,  and  a  deep  blush  rose  in  her  cheek,  but 
soon  faded  away,  and  left  her  again  pale  and 
thougiitful.  She  had  not,  however,  much  time  to 
analyze  her  feelings  ;  for,  by  this  time,  the  bishop 
had  reached  the  altar,  and  waited  their  approach. 

Potier,  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  had  little  of  that  gen- 
tleness of  disposition,  or  suavity  of  manner,  calcu- 
lated to  reassure  Pauline.  He  had  undertaken  the 
oflBce  which  he  came  there  to  fulfil,  merely  at  the 
desire  of  the  queen,  and  that  not  without  making 
considerable  opposition.  But,  though  Potier  was  ob- 
stinate, Anne  of  Austria  was  still  more  so.  She  had 
resolved  that  the  ceremony  should  be  performed, 
and  that  he  should  perform'it,  and  she  carried  her 
point ;  but  yet  he  made  his  dislike  to  the  task  very 
apparent,  and  regarded  the  innocent  Pauline  with 
no  friendly  looks. 

"  Come,  mademoiselle,"  said  he,  as  Pauline 
seemed  to  linger  for  a  moment,  ''  you  and  Mon- 
sieur le  Compte  will  have  enough  of  each   other's 


EICHELIEU.  201 

society  after  my  office  is  over.  Let  us  proceed  with 
ttie  ceremony," 

The  group  arranged  tliem?eves  round  the  altar, 
and  the  bishop  opening  tiie  boolt  began  to  read. 
The  proiuise,  wliich  was  to  bind  iier  to  De  Blenau 
for  ever,  trembled  on  Pauline's  lips,  when  a  confus- 
ed noise  at  the  private  door  leading  to  the  palace 
caught  her  ear,  and  she  paused. 

De  Blenau,  who  had  not  heard  it,  turned  towards 
her  in  surprise  3  but  immediately  the  voice  of  the 
attendant,  who  had  been  stationed  there  as  port- 
greve,  was  heard  exclaiming  to  some  one,  wlio  ap- 
parently endeavored  to  make  his  way  into  the 
church,  "  Stand  back,  1  say.  You  do  not  enter 
here  !     What  is  yoyr  authority  V 

"My  authority,"  replied  another  voice,  "  is  a 
warrant  of  council.  Oppose  it  if  you  dare.  Strike 
liim  down,  if  he  docs  not  let  you  pass."  And  im- 
mediately the  door  bursting  open,  an  officer  of  the 
cardinal's  guard,  with  a  file  of  soldiers,  entered  the 
church. 

'•  Guard  the  doors,"  cried  the  officer, "  and  let  no 
one  quit  the  place."  And  giving  his  partisan  to 
one  of  the  soldiers,  be  advanced  towards  the  high 
Gothic  arch,  forming  the  boundary  between  the 
main  aisle  and  the  chapel  of  St.  Catherine. 

P.iuline  clung  to  De  Blenau.  "  Oh,  Claude  1" 
cried  she,  "they  are  going  to  tear  you  from  me 
again.  My  heart  misgave  me. — I  was  sure  that 
somefching  dreadful  would  interpose  between  us." 

De  Blenau  whispered  a  few  words  of  comfort  to 
her,  and  Fotier  himself  was  moved  by  her  agita- 
tion. "Do  not  be  afraid,  young  lady."  said  he  j 
"we  are  on  sacred  ground, — Stop,  sir,"  he  con- 
tinued, advancing  to  the  steps  of  the  chapel,  which 
the  officer  had  just  reached  :  "  what  seek  you  here  ? 
And  how  do  you  presume  to  bring  armed  men  in- 
to this  church  1" 

"  I  come,  sir,"  answered  the  officer,  "  with  a 
warrant  from  his  majesty's  council,  to  arrest  Claude 

roL.  n         14 


202 


RIOHELTKU. 


Count  de  Blenau  y'  and   be  made  a  step  towards 
the  chapel. 

•■'  Hold  !'■'  exclaimed  the  bishop,  '<  You  arrest 
him  not  here.  This  ground  is  sanctuary ;  and  I 
command  you,  in  the  name  of  God  and  our  holy  re- 
ligion, to  withdraw  your  men,  and  instantly  to  quit 
this  church.'-'  And  he  waved  his  hand  with  an  air 
ef  dignified  authority. 

The  officer  paused.  '•'  But,  monseigneur,"  he 
replied,  "  the  count  is  charged  with  high  trea- 
son.'' 

"With  high  treason!"  exclaimed  the  qaeen. 
"  With  high  treason  I''  echoed  Pauline,  clinging 
still  closer  to  De  Blenau's  arm,  which  she  held 
encirled  by  both  her  own. 

"  He  is  charged  with  high  treason,"  repeated  the 
officer;  "and  1  musiiultil  my  duty. " 

''Were  he  charged  with  all  the  crimes  which 
disgrace  humanity,'"  replied  the  bishop,  "  here  he 
is  sanctuarized  ;  and  1  command  you,  on  pain  of 
excommunication — you,  Sir  Officer,  and  your  sol- 
diers, to  quit  the  church,  i  stand  not  here  to  see 
this  altar  violated,  whatever  be  your  authority." 

The  officer  paused  a  moment,  uncertain  how  to 
act.  "  Well,  holy  father,"  replied  he  at  lenj^th,  •'  I 
obey  3  but  I  shall  lake  especial  care  to  guard  every 
door  of  the  cliurch  ;  so  that  if  there  be  any  biamc.  it 
does  not  fall  on  me. '•■  .\nd  muttering  between  his 
teeth  the  discontent  he  did  not  dare  to  vent  aloud, 
he  slowly  withdrew  his  men. 

The  eye  of  Anne  of  Austria  watched  them  intent- 
ly till  the  last  soldier  had  passed  through  the  door 
which  communicated  vvith  the  palace.  Then  turn- 
ing quickly  to  the  count,  sJic  exclaimed,  '■  Kly 
quick,  De  Blenau,  up  that  staircase,  cross  the  jvbe, 
through  the  monks'  gulery  round  the  choir.  Vou 
will  find  a  door  on  the  rigii't  ibat  leads  into  the  kings 
cabinet.  Wait  there  itll  1  .send— Quick,  fly— 1  de- 
sire — I  command  ynii.' 

"Oh  fly,  Ciautie.  tis-'--  fciteratod  Patilinf.--  they 


RICHELIEU.  203 

-will  murder  70U  surely  this  time,  if  you  do  not 
fly." 

"  Pardon  me,  your  majesty — pardon  me,  dear 
Pauline,'' replied  De  Blenau  3  "  it  cannot  be.  There 
is  no  man  ia  France  more  innocent,  in  deed,  word, 
or  even  thought,  of  treason  against  his  king  and 
country  than  1  am  3  and  Claude  de  Blenau  flies  from 
no  one,  so  long  as  his  honor  and  integrity  remain 
by  him  :  when  these  fail,  then  he  may  become  a 
coward.  But  to  these  will  I  now  trust,  and  in- 
stantly surrender  myself  to  his  majesty's  warrant. 
i  did  not  interfere  wjiile  monseigneur  defended  the 
rights  of  the  sanctuary,  for  he  did  but  th-e  duties  of 
his  high  office  5  nor  indeed  was  I  willing  to  yield 
my  sword  to  a  servant  of  Cardinal  Richelieu.  Take 
it,  Henry,"  he  continued,  unbuckling  it  frnm  his 
■side,  and  gi'ving  it  to  the  page  5  "  take  it,  and  keep 
it  for  vour  master." 

**  De  Blenau,  you  are  an  obstinat*  man,"  said 
the  queen.  *'  I  w  ill  urge  nothing  3  but  look  at  this 
pale  cheek,  and  fiincy  what  the  feelings  of  that 
sweet  girl  must  be."  And  siie  pointed  to  Pauline 
who  stood  by  with  the  tears  chasing  each  other 
down  her  lace. 

^Notwithstanding  Ike  firmness  with  which  he 
-epoke,  there  had  been  many  a  bitter  pang  strugg- 
ling in  Dc  Blenau's  breast,  The  appeal  of  the 
queen,  and  the  sight  of  Pauline's  distress,  over- 
came his  calmness  ;  and  starting  forward,  he  caught 
her  in  his  armies  and  pressed  an  ardent  kiss  upon 
her  lips.  "  Dear,  dear  Pauline,"  he  exclaimed, 
"all  will  go  well,  be  assured.  My  innocence  will 
protect  me." 

Pauline  shook  her  hea-d  mournfully,  but  her  heart 
was  too  full  to  reply. 

"  Theu  you  will  not  fly  ?"  demanded  the  queen, 
with  some  degree  of  impatience. 

"  He  is  in  the  right,  madam,"  said  the  bishop. 
"As  a  good  subject,  h^  is  bound  to  obey  the  laws 
of  hi9  country;  and    in  duty  to   himself,  he   ought 


204  RICHELIEU 

r.ot  to  give  weight  to  the  charge  against  him  bv 
seeming  afraid  to  meet  it." 

Anne  of  Austria  turned  away  with  a  look  of  an- 
gry disappointment.  "  VV^ell,  at  ail  events,'  said 
she,  "  let  us  conclude  the  ceremory  which  has  been 
thus  interrupted,  and  afterward  the  coont-  can  act 
as  he  pleases. 

De  Blenau  hesitated.  He  felt  that  what  the 
queen  proposed,  if  carried  into  effect,  would  bs 
the  only  consolation  he  could  receive  under  the 
new  misfortune  that  bad  befallen  him  ;  but  he  fell 
also  that  it  was  a  selfishness  to  wish  it,  and  he  look- 
ed towards  the  bishop  who  had  so  well  supp>orted 
his  fir&t  resolution.  But  Potrer  bent  his  eyes  grave*- 
ly  on  the  ground,  disapproving  the  proposal,  yet  an- 
willing  farther  to  oppose  the  queen. 

"  It  shall  be  as  Pauline  decides,"  said  De  Blenau, 
taking  her  hand  and  raising  it  gently  to  his  lips. — 
"  Pauline,"  he  continued,  "you  know  how  deeply 
1  love  you}  you  know  how  I  have  lonjed  for  the 
hour  that  should  give  me  your  hand.  But  I  fear 
that  I  should  be  cruelly  selfisli,  were  1  to  ask  you 
to  become  the  bride  of  one  whose  fate  is  so  un- 
certain— Speak,  dear  Pauline." 

Mademoiselle  de  Beaumont  spoke  not.  but  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  De  Blenau  with  an  expression 
which  toid  that  every  feeling  of  her  heart  was  given 
to  him. — The  marchioness,  however,  interposed.. 
'•'No!''  said  she  :  '•' ('laude,you  are  right  5  it  is  bet- 
ter to  wait. — The  time  will  come,  I  feel  sure,  when 
you  will  be  able  to  claim  Pauline  in  the  midst  of 
smiles  and  happiness,  instead  of  tears  and  danger. 
Does  not  your  majesty  think  this  delay  advisible  V' 

'•  My  opinion  has  been  expressed  alreadv,"  re- 
plied Anne  of  Austria,  peevishly.  "  But  it  is  not 
my  affair — act  as  you  think  fit.'  But  were  I  Pau- 
line, and  my  lover  gave  me  up  so  calmly,  I  would 
seek  another  in  his  absence  to  console  me." 

De  Blenau,  deeply  hurt,  bit  his  lip.  and  by  a 
strong  effort  forced  himself  to  silence  :  but  Pauline 
jlaced  her  hand  in  his,  and  raising  her  eyes  to  his 


TtlOHEUEU,  205 

face  : — Fear  not,  Claude,"  she  said  ;  "■  in  life  and  in 
-death  I  am  yours.  None  other  shall  ever  possess 
the  hand  of  Pauline  de  Beaumont." 

"You  are  a  noble  girl,  Pauline,"  exclaimed  the 
queen.  '' De  Blenau,  I  was  wrong ;  but  it  vexes 
me  to  see  that  you  will  always  be  more  in  the 
right  than  I  am.  Do  not  look  so  sad,  Pauline. 
The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  feel  sure  that 
De  Blenau's  innocence  will  stand  him  in  good 
stead  yet,  in  spite  of  the  meager  cardinal :  and  I 
begin  to  reckon  also  somewhat  oa  my  own  influ- 
ence with  Louis ;  he  is  far  kinder  than  in  former 
days  :  and  I  will  make  it  a  point  of  earnest  prayer, 
that  De  Blenau  be  fairly  used.  Besides,  they  have 
now  no  plea  against  him.  There  are  no  secret  let- 
ters to  be  discovered — no  correspondence  with  the 
public  enemy." 

Pauline  shook  her  head  mournfully.  A  cloud 
had  come  over  the  sun  of  her  days,  and  she  fanci- 
ed that  he  would  never  beam  brightly  again. 

''  If  we  could  ascertain  the  reason  of  this  arrest, 
said  Madame  de  Beaumont,/'  it  might  in  some  de- 
gree satisfy  our  minds." 

"  That  may  be  easily  done,"  replied  the  bishop, 
"  as  Monsieur  de  Blenau  is  resolved  lo  surrender 
feimself.  We  can  question  the  officer,  in  regard 
to  what  occurred  at  the  place  from  whence  he 
comes  J  and  by  that  means  discover  what  circum- 
stances have  arisen  to  cast  suspicion  on  the 
tjount." 

What  the  bishop  proposed  was  instantly  agreed 
to;  and  De  Blenau  sent  forward  his  page  to  inform 
the  officer  of  his  determination. 

Anne  of  Austria  then  took  a  few  steps  along  the 
nave,  and  turned  to  see  if  he  still  held  his  resolu- 
tion. De  Blenau  bowed.  "  1  follow  your  majes- 
ty," he  said,  "  I  feel  that , I  have  nothing  to  fear." 
And  they  passed  on  slowly  and  sadly  to  the  other 
-«nd  of  the  church. 

As  they  went  Pauline  still  clang  to  the  arm  of  her 
lover,  as  if  she    feared  that  every  moment  they 


fc^Ti  RICHELIED. 

would  tear  him  from  her  5  and  tear  after  tear  rolled' 
silently  down  her  clieeks.  The  heart  of  De  Ble^ 
nau  also  was  loo  full  for  words,  so  that  silence  hung 
upon  the  whole  party. 

At  the  door  which  communicated  with  the  pal- 
ace, stood  the  cardinal's  officer,  with  too  or  three 
of  his  men  ;  and  as  she  approached,  the  queen  de-- 
sired  him  to  follow  her  to  the  saloon.  Tiie  officer 
bowed  low,  and  replied,  that  he  would  obey  her 
commands  ;  but  immediately  advancing  to  De  Ble- 
nau,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  count's  arm.  "  In 
the  king's  name,  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Blenau," 
said  he,  '•'  i  arrest  you  for  high  treason.  Behold 
my  warrant^' 

Pauline  recoiled  with  a  look  of  fear;  and  De  Ble- 
!iiu  calmly  put  the  man's  hand  from  off  his  sleeve. 
— "  Pass  on,  sir,"  he  said.  •'  1  am  your  prisoner." 
The  officer  hesitated  ;  "  Pass  on,  sir,"  repeated  the 
count  3  "  you  have  ray  word.  I  am  your  prison- 
er." 

The  man  passed  on,  but  not  before  he  had  made 
a  sign  to  the  soldiers  who  were  with  him,  who  suf- 
fered the  count  and  Pauline  to  pass,  and  then  clos- 
ing in,  followed  at  a  few  paces  distance. 

On  reaching  the  saloon,  the  queen  took  her  seat  ; 
and  beckoning  to  Pauline,  who,  faint  and  terrified, 
was  hardly  able  to  support  herself,  she  made  her 
sit  down  on  the  footstool  at  her  feet.  "JNow,  Sir 
Officer,"  said  Anne  of  Austria,  '<  what  news  bring 
you  from  Narbonne  ?  How  fares  his  majesty  the. 
king  ?" 

"May  it  please  you,  madame,"  he  replied,"! 
come  not  from  Narbonne,  as  your  majesty  supposes, 
but  from  Tarascon,  where  the  king  had  just  arrived 
when  I  departed." 

"  The  king  at  Tarascon  !"  exclaimed  Anne  of 
Austria.  "  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  does  he 
at  Tarascon  ?" 

"  That  is  beyond  my  knowledge,"  answered  the 
officer.  "  All  I  can  tell  your  majesty  is,  that  for  the 
last  week  there  has   been  strange  flying  of  courlots 


RlCIlKLIt:  207 

Troui  one  place  to  another.  Monsieur  de  Chavigni 
has  almost  killed  himself  with  riding  between  Tar- 
ascon  and  Narbonnc.  Every  thing  is  altered,  evi- 
dently, but  no  one  knows  how  or  why  ;  and  just  as 
Aleron,  Monsieur  de  Brezes  inaitre  d'hotel,  was 
about  to  give  me  the  whole  history,  i  received  aa 
order  to  set  off  for  Paris  instantly,  and  when  I  ar- 
rived there,  to  take  twenty  troopers  from  the  ca- 
seme,  and  come  on  hither  on  the  errand  which  I 
have  the  honor  to  perform." 

"  But  did  you  hear  nothing  ?"  demanded  the 
queen,  earnestly.  ''  Did-  this  Aleron  tell  you  noth- 
ing ?" 

"  Nothing,  roadarae,"  replied  the  officer.  "  He 
had  just  made  me  promise  inviolable  secrecy,  and 
Nve  were  interrupted  before  he  began  his  tale  3  or  I 
would  have  told  your  majestyvvith  pleasure." 

"  But  from  report  T"  said  the  queen.  "  Did  you 
gain  no  knowledge  from  rumour  1" 

•'  Oh,  there  were  rumours  enough,  truly/\answer- 
ed  the  man.j,  "  butas  fast  as  one  came,  it  was  con- 
tradicted by  another.  Some  said  that  the  troops  at 
Perpignan  had  revolted,  and  some  that  Jlfonsieur 
le  Grand  had  killed  Cardinal  Mazarin.  Others 
brought  word  that  Monsieur  de  Noyers  had  tried  to 
poison  the  king  j  and  others,  that  the  king  had 
kicked  Fbatraitles  for  hunting  in  short  boots." 

"  Nofisense  .'"  said  the  queen  j  "  all  nonsense. — 
It  is  unfortunate,"  she  continued,  musing,  "  that 
we  can  get  no  information.  But  tell  me,  where 
are  you  ordered  to  conduct  itfonsieur  de  Blenau  ? 
—To  the  Bastille  V 

At  the  name  of  a  place  where  both  De  Blenau 
and  herself  had  suffered  so  much,  and  which  was 
associated  in  her  mind  with  every  horrible  idea, 
Pauline  clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  as  if  to 
shut  out  the  frightful  visions  it  recalled. 

"  No,  madame,"  replied  the  officer,  "  I  am  com- 
manded to  conduct  Moasieur  de  Blenau,  as  quickly 
as  possible,  to  Tarascon  :  and  allow  me  to  remind 
your,  majesty  that  the  time  is  pasting  fast." 


20S  RKHIELIEET 

De  Blenau  made  a  sign  to  the  ofBcer.  tfKlicatiHg 
ihat  he  wss  reidy.  He  saw  that  Pauliae's  hand 
stiU  covered  her  eves,  and,  wishing  to  spare  her 
tlie  p;iin  ofsucii  a  p.irtinsr,  he  bowed  prifuundly to 
the  queen,  and  moved  in  f-ilence  to  tiie  door.  The 
queen  and  Madame  de  Beaumont  saw  his  inten- 
tion, and  remained  silent  ^  but  as  he  reached  the 
door,  he  cluU  no*  resist  the  desire  to  turn  and  look 
once  more  upon  her  whom  he  was  leaving  perhaps 
forever — whnhal  so  nearly  been  his  bride^vriiom 
he  had  loved  so  long — .vho  hr.d  undergone  bo  much 
for  him.  It  was  excucable,  but  the  delay  df  fented 
bis  purpose.  The  sudden  silence  alarmed  Pauline 
— she  raised  her  eyes — she  saw  De  Blenaii  in  the 
act  of  departing,  and  the  last  fixed  painful  glance 
with  which  he  regarded  her.  All  but  her  love  was 
at  til  at  moment  forgotten  ;  and  starling  wildly  for- 
ward,, she  threw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  wept 
bitterly  on  his  bosom.  But  Madame  de  Beaumont 
advancing,  gently  disengaged  her  from  his  em- 
brace .  Pauline  hid  her  eyes  upon  her  mother's 
shoulder;  and  De  Blenau^  with  a  heart  ready  to 
break,  fled  quickly  from  a  scene  4iiat  hb  fortitude 
could  support  no  longer. 


CHAPTER  XII 


Which  shows  (hat  a  man  vihn  fms  eWmbed  a  raountaiw  n»ajr 
ilnmble  at  a  Pebble;  or  (Ire  consequence*  , of  one  orei"- 
si§h(. 

We  mast  once  more  go  back  to  Narbonne,  in 
order  to  explain  the  events  which  had  ihere  taken 
plac€;  since   the  day  on  ^hicll  Cbavigni  posrossed 


mCHELIED.  20^ 

himself  of  the  treaty  with  Spain.  Cinq  Mars,  heaf- 
ing  nothing  of  his  agent,  of  course  concluded  that 
he  was  qiiietiy  pursuing  his  way  ;  and  willing  to 
take  every  precaution  lo  insure  the  success  of  his 
plans,  he  spent  the  next  day  in  riding  over  to  the 
camp  at  Perpignan.  and  enrfe^'.voring  to  ingratiate 
himself  with  the  officers  and  soldiers  of  tiiat  part  of 
the  army.  The  splendor  of  his  train  and  equippa- 
ges,  the  manly  beauty  of  his  person,  his  dexterity 
m  all  warlike  exercises,  and  the  courteous  familiar- 
ity of  his  mJinners,  attracted  all  eyes,  and  won  all 
hearts  ;  and  Cinq  Mars,  well  contented  with  the 
day's  success,  did  not  return  to  Narbcnne  till  very 
late  at  ni^ht. 

The  next  morning  had  been  appointed  for  hunt- 
ing ;  but  that  day  the  king  was  rather  later  than 
usual,  and  Cinq  Mars,  as  he  waited  in  the  saloon  till 
Louis  should  be  ready,  took  up  a  romance  which 
some  of  the  pages  had  left  behind,  and  stretching 
his  tall  elegant  form  at  length  in  the  window-seat, 
he  began  reading,  to  pass  the  time. 

The  book  was  The  true  History  of  Don  Cleofas 
of  Castile,  and  as  Cinq  Mars  read  on,  he  became 
interested  in  the  fate  of  the  hero.  He  had  opened 
the  volume  at  that  part  where  the  knight  rescues 
Matilda  from  the  power  of  the  Moors.  He  was  in 
the  act  of  persuading  her  to  descend  the  staircase 
in  the  tower,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  repentant 
renegade  waited  with  their  horses ;  and  Cinq  Mars, 
•whose  whole  heart  was  full  of  roma.ice,  at  one 
moment  entered  entirely  into  the  vehement  and 
almost  angry  arguments  of  Don  Cleofas,  and  then 
again  felt  for  the  alarm  ami  doubt  of  the  timid  Ma- 
tilda. 

So  much,  indeed,  was  he  occupied,  that  as  some 
one  passed  to  and  from  the  king's  chamber,  he 
scarcely  raised  his  eyes  to  noticatswho  it  was  ;  and 
when  at  last  ho  did  so,  he  found  w   i     only  a  page. 

The  tale  went  on,  and  his  eye  ran  .from  sentence 
to  sentence,  to  see  if  the  fears  of  Matilda  had 
^proved  &tal  to  their  hop6d|Of  escape  ;  and  his  heart 


210   '  R10HEI.IEU. 

beot  with  anxiety  and  alarm  as  the  wind  blew  the 
door  to  behind  them,  and  they  listened  to  hear 
whether  the  Moors  had  been  awakened  by  the 
sound.  It  was  at  that  moment  that  another  step 
met  his  ear,  whose  firm,  decided  pace  plainly  told 
that  it  was  not  that  of  a  domestic.  Cinq  Mars  rais- 
ed his  eyes,  and  as  he  did  so,  they  eiypountered 
those  of  Chavigni,  who  was  passing  on  to  the  apart- 
ments of  the  king.  Chavigni  bowed,  with  a  pecu- 
liar smile.  Cinq  Mars  returned  his  salutation,  and 
again  began  reading  his  book.  "  It  is  all  over  with 
your  power,  Monsieur  de  Chavignj,"  thought  the 
master  of  the  horse  ;  "'  I  will  but  read  out  this  ad- 
venture of  the  two  lovers,  and  then  1  will  come  to 
disturb  your  tete-a-tete  with  his  majesty.'' 

Cinq  Mars  read  on.  ''Don  Cleofas  and  his  fair- 
ilfatilda  descended  the  staircase  in  the  city  walls  j 
but  before  they  reached  the  gate,  the  alarm  was 
given,  and  by  the  time  they  had  mounted  their 
horses,  all  the  garrison  was  armed  for  their  pursuit. 
Flights  of  arrows  followed  them  from  the  ramparts 
as  they  fled,  and  a  body  of  the  horse  kept  close  up- 
on their  track.  But  still  Don  Cleofas  pursued  his 
way,  the  bridle  of  J/atilda's  horse  thrown  over  his 
arm,  and  his  right  hand  ready  to  grasp  his  sword, 
should  the  moors  overtake  them.  It  was  up  the 
ascent  of  a  steep  hill  that  he  took  bis  way,  and  at 
the  top  he  reined  in  his  horse,  on  the  edge  of  the 
cr?g  which  looked  down  into  a  peaceful  valley  be- 
low. Don  Cleofas  sprang  to  the  ground,  gave  one 
look  to  the  31ooT3  who  were  following  fast  behind, 
and,  as  a  last  resource,  catching  Matilda  in  his 
arms,  he  leaped  from  the  brink,  bounding  from  rock 
to  rock  in  the  descent,  with  the  agility  of  an  izzard, 
till  at  length  he  reached  the  deepest  part  of  the 
valley  below." — All  this  was  told  at  full  length  in 
the  romance.  The  terrors  of  Matilda,  the  daring 
of  the  knight,  the  angry  gestures  of  the  Moors,  the 
steepness  of  the  descent,  and-the.oalm  beauty  of 
the  valley,  were  all  dilated  upon  and  described 
with  the  utaaost  minuteness  and  accuracy  ;  which 


RICHELIEU  Qll 

very  much  delighted  Cinq  Mars,  but  took  him  a 
long  time  to  read  ;  so  that  just  at  the  moment  he 
had  got  them  safely  to  near  the  end  of  their  jour- 
ney, the  door  of  the  king's  apartments  again  open- 
ed, and  Chavigni  passed  through  the  room  on  his 
return.  Perceiving  this  to  be  the  case  Cinq  iUars 
thought  that  he  might  as  well  go  on  with  his 
book  j  which  he  had  just  begun  to  do,  when  Fon- 
trailles  entered  the  saloon  and  interrupted  iiim.  "  In 
the  name  of  Heaven,  Cinq  Mars,"  exclaimed  he, 
"  what  are  you  about  ?" 

'^  I  am  waiting  till  the  king  is  ready,'^  answered 
the  master  of  the  horse  composedly,  scarcely  tak 
ing  his  eyes  from  the  romance. 

''  And  is  it  possible,"  asked  Fontrailles,  in  a  tone 
of  angry  astonishment,  "  that  you  have  lain  here 
reading  that  drivelling  book,  and  suffered  Chavigni 
to  be  again  so  long  with  the  king  VI 

"  Again  \"  said  Cinq  Mars,  becoming  more  at- 
tentive;  "  he  only  passed  once  that  I  saw." 

"  And  ought  he  to  have  been  there  once,  if  that 
were  all  V  asked  Fontrailles.  "  But  let  me  tell 
you.  Cinq  il/ars,  he  was  there  last  night  for  more 
than  an  hour.  Oh,  Cinq  Mars  !  Cinq  Mars  !  is  this  a 
time,  when  our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our  coun- 
try's weal  are  at  stake,  to  sit  thene  dozing  over  a 
romance,  and  see  our  bitterest  enemy  have  access 
to  the  king's  ear,  but  too  easy  to  be  abused  ?  De- 
pend on  it,  something  more  will  rome  of  this," 

"  But  why  did  you  not  let  me  know,"  demanded 
the  master  of  the  horse,  "  that  he  had  seen  the 
king  last  night?" 

"  I  learned  it  but  this  moment,"  replied  Fontrail- 
les. "  But  here  comes  a  page  from  the  king's 
apartments.  A  message  to  you,  Cinq  Mars,  on  my 
life." 

The  page  approached.  '  I  ?m  commanded  by 
the  king's  majesty  to  acquaint  you,  monseigneur," 
said  he,  addressing  the  grand  ecuyer,  "  that  he 
feels  himself  too  unwell  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of 
the  chase  to-day.    But  he  desires  that  his  indispo- 


212  RTCnELTTSTT. 

sitionmaynot  prevent  you,  and  the  other  gentle- 
men invited;  from  following  your  sport."  And  hav- 
ing delivered  this  message,  the  attendant  withdrew, 
without  waiting  for  any  reply. 

"Well,  now  you  see,  Fontrailles,"  exclaimed 
Cinq  Mars,  ••there  is  nothing  wrong  here.  Noth- 
ing can  be  more  kind  and  considerate  than,  when 
ill  himself,  to  wish  us  to  follow  the  sport  without 
him.' 

An  expression  of  heavy,  deep-seated  thought  sat 
upon  the  brow  of  the  clear  sighted,  suspicious  Fon- 
trailles. He  took  two  or  three  steps  up  and  dovi^n 
the  apartment,  and  then,  turning  to  Cinq  Mars  with 
a  countenance  in  which  painful  anxiety  and  bitter 
irony  were  strangely  mingled,  he  considered  hia 
companion  with  an  attentive  glance,  which  ran  rap- 
ioly  over  his  tall  elegant  figure.  "  Cinq  Mars," 
said  he,  "you  are  more  than  six  feet  high,  and 
could  spare  a  few  inches  of  your  height  upon  an  oc- 
casion— even  were  they  to  make  ^ou  shorter  by  the 
head,  you  would  still  be  a  tall  man.  As  for  me,  I 
am  short  already,  and  cannot  afford  to  be  cut  down. 
A  word  to  the  wise— I  go  to  shelter  myself  from 
pruning-knives.  Do  as  yon  please.  We  shall  meet 
in  this  world  or  the  next.  Adieu!"  And  turning 
on  his  heel,  he  quitted  the  saloon. 

"  The  man  is  mad  !"  said  Cinq  Mars,  aloud  as 
Fontrailles  left  him—''  irretrievably  cracked  '." 
And  jumping  up  from  the  window-seat,  he  descend- 
ed to  the  courtyard,  called  the  huntsmen  together, 
mounted  his  h«rse,  and  led  the  chase  as  merrily  as 
if  nothing  had  happened  but  the  ordinary  trifles  of 
a  day. 

Had  he  known  all,  very  different  would  have 
been  his  feelings.  The  visit  of  Chavigni  to  the 
king- was  one  on  which  the  fate  of  France  depend- 
ed ;  and  the  wily  statesman  had  entered  the  apart- 
ments of  the  monarch,  prepared  equally  to  guard 
every  word  he  uttered  himself,  and  to  watch  every 
turn  of  Lotiis's  irritaMe  and  unsteady  mind. 

The  king  was  leaning  on  a  table  in  hia  cabiaet, 


MC1!Et!EB.  213 

dresffcd  for  the  hunting  expedition  we  have  men- 
tioned, and  more  than  an  unusual  degree  of  peev- 
ishness was  expressed  in  his  countenance.  '•  Well, 
sir,"  exclaimed  Louis,  as  Chavigni  entered,  ''  what 
other  bad  news  have  you  the  pleasure  of  bringing 
me  1  What  other  friends  have  turned  traitors  1 
What  other  power  is  about  to  invade  my  dominions? 
By  the  Holy  Trinity  !  I  never  see  your  face  but  it 
makes  me  melancholy." 

Chavigni  was  not  sorry  to  perceive  the  king's 
irritability.  The  night  before  he  had  conveyed  to 
him-,  in  general  terms,  tiie  news  of  a  private  treaty 
existing  between  Spain  and  some  that  Louis  sup- 
posed his  friends,  and  had  promised  to  bring  him 
that  morning  the  names  of  the  different  parties  en- 
gaged. He  now  came  to  fulfil  that  promise,  and  he 
saw  that  the  former  information  had  been  working 
upon  Louis's  mind,  and  raised  in  it  a  degree  of  im- 
patience and  anger  that  would  fall  "heavily  on  the 
first  object  presented  to  iiis  resentnnent.  Nor  did 
Chavigni  doubt  that  he  would  easily  be  able  to  turn 
it  in  the  direction  that  ho  wished. 

"My  liege,"  replied  he,  "  when  I  find  your  maj- 
esty's conHdence  betrayed,  your  dominions  threat- 
ened, and  even  your  person  in  danger,  it  is  my  duty 
to  give  your  majesty  timely  warning,  although  the 
news  be  as  unpleasant  for  me  to  bear  as  for  you  to 
hear.  To  conceal  treason  is  the  part  of  a  traitor, 
and  as  one  of  your  majesty's  council—*" 

'^  Well,  well,  sir,"  cried  Louis,  interrupting  him. 
"  spare  your  exculpation.  The  executioner  is 
doubtless  guiltless  of  the  blood  he  sheds,  but  it  is  not 
a  right  honorable  trade." 

An  angry  flush  came  over  C'havigni's  counte- 
nance, but  it  quickly  subsided;  and  he  replied  calm- 
ly, "  I  came  here,  as  your  majesty  knows,  to  give 
you  more  minute  particulars  of  tlie  information-! 
rendered  you  yesterday  ;  and  to  prove  to  you  that 
some  whom  you  esteem  your  dearest  friends,  and 
some  who  are  your  nearest  relations,  arc  the  veriest 
traitors   in  France.    The  affair  for  no  one   can  bo 


214  RlCHELIfiO- 

more  unpleasant  than  for  myself,  for  there  are  some 
to  whom  1  wish  well,  thnt  have  in  this  merited  their 
death  :  therefore,  sire,  if  you  find  it  too  painful  to 
hear,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  let  it  rest  in  silence. 
I  will  high  me  home  and  burn  the  papers  I  have 
brought  here  ;  and  satistied  with  having  done  my 
duty^only  hold  myself  ready,  when  the  misfortunes 
which  must  follow,  do  arrive,  to  serve  your  majesty 
with  my  hand  and  heart."  And  bowing  profoundly, 
Chavigni  took  a  step  back,  as  if  about  to  quit  the 
presence. 

"  Hold,  Monsieur  de  Chavigni,  said  the  king, 
"you  have  done  your  duty,  we  do  not  doubt.  But 
unpleasant  tidings,  sir,  are  not  to  be  received  pleas- 
antly. Were  it  nurself  alone  that  they  aimed  at, 
perhaps  we  might  leave  treason  to  overreach  itself } 
but  as  the  welfare  of  our  kingdom  is  at  stake,  we 
must  look  tl>e  frowning  truth  in  the  face,  and  pre- 
pare to  punish  the  guilty,  be  they  who  they  may, 
that  we  may  insure  the  safety  of  ti^e  innocent.'' 

■'  Louis  the  Just."'  said  Chavigni,  advancing  and 
using  a  term  which  had  been  bestowed  upon  the 
kingbyllie  astrologers  of  the  day  from  his  having 
been  born  under  the  sign  Libra, '"  Louis  the  Just 
will  not  act  otherwise  thanjustly,  and  iff  prove  not 
to  your  majesty's  satisfaction  that  a  most  dangerous 
conspiracy  is  on  foot,  let  your  royal  indignation  fall 
upon  me." 

••  I  know  cet  whatyoTi  call  a  conspiratiy,  sir,"  an- 
swered Louis,  his  mind  reverting  to  the  plans  oi 
Cinq  Mars,  to  which,  as  we  have  seen,  he  had  given 
his  own  sanction  only  a  few  nights  before,  and  for 
the  discovery  of  which  he  felt  as  much  alarm  as  if 
Richelieu  possessed  the  power  of  punishing  him 
also. 

'•  The  conspiracy  I  speak  of,  sire,"  rejoined  the 
statesman,  "  is  formed  not  only  to  oblige  your  maj- 
esty to  change  your  ministers    but— -'' 

"  I  can  conceive  no  plan  for  obliging  me  to  change 
my  ministers,"  interrupted  t!ie  king.  '•  You  must 
have  mistaken,  Monsieur  de  Chavigni ;  perhaps  tlie 


RlCHELlEtr.  fl5 

persona  whom  yoo  style  conspirators,  have  only  in 
view  to  make  me  dutiful  petition  and  remonstrance, 
iu  which  case  I  should  give  their  arguments  ail 
due  weight  and  consideration.  Therefore,  if  this 
be  the  information  you  bring,  1  wish  to  hear  no 
more. 

Long  accustomed  to  observe  every  particular 
point  of  \veakness  in  the  king's  mind,  Chavigni  at 
once  convinced  the  whole  train  of  Louis's  thoughts, 
and  judged  from  the  very  alarrrj  which  he  saw  in 
the  monarch's  countenance,  that  if  the  cardinal's 
power  could  once  be  re-established,  it  would  be 
jnore  unbounded  than  ever  3  and  as  these  ideas  pass- 
ed through  his  mind,  they  called  a  transient  smile 
uponjhis  lip. 

•' \Vhy  do  you  smile,  sir  I'' demanded  the  king', 
sharply.' 

"  Pardon  me,  sire  ?"  nnswered  Chavigni.  *  But  it 
was,  that  you  should  thir.k  me  so  weak  as  to  trou- 
ble you  upon  such  a  subject.  If  leaguing  with  the 
enemies  you  have  fought  and  conquered  be  humble 
petition;  if  bringing  foreign  troops  to  invade  your 
dominions  be  dutiful  remonstrance  ;  if  promising  to 
deliver  the  strong  places  of  France  into  the  hands 
of  Spain  be  loyalty  and  iaith, — then  have  I  unneces- 
sarily disturbed  your  repose." 

Chavigni's  speech  worked  upon  the  king  as  he 
expected.  ''  How  say  you  '■''  exclaimed  Louis,  his 
eyes  flasliing  fire.  *'  Who  h.is  dared  to  conceive 
f-uch  a  thought  ?  Who  has  had  the  hardihood  to 
unite  liimself  to  Spain — our  sworn  enemy — our  mor- 
tal foe  ? — frove  you*-  assertion,  sir — Prove  that 
suc!i  a  traitor  exists  in  our  dominions  ;  and  were  he 
our  own  brother,  we  would  doom  him  to  death.'' 

Chavigni  instantly  caught  at  the  idea.  "  Sorry  I 
am  to  say,  sire,"  he  replied,  "  that  your  majesty  has 
but  too  truly  divincvi  the  person.  The  Duke  of  Or- 
leans, unhappily,  is  the  chief  of  this  dangerous  con- 
spiracy. Behold,  my  liege,  his  name  to  this  treaty 
with  Spain  ;''  and  ail  fully  contriving  to  conceal  the 
greater  part  of  t!ie  names  with  his  hand  in  holding 


216  ftlCHELitU. 

it  before  the  king,  he  pointed  out  the  great  sprawl- 
ing "  Gaston,^^  which  stood  the  first  on  the  list  of 
signatures. 

Louis  instantly  recognised  his  brother's  hand- 
writing. ■'  Gaston  of  Orleans  !  Gaston  of  OrleaasI'' 
he  e.t-clainisd,  '-will  nothing  satisfy  you?  Must 
you  beiray  your  country  to  her  enemies,  as  well  as 
to  plot  against  your  brother's  life  magicians  and  as- 
trologers ?" 

We  have  already  had  occasion  to  remark,  that 
Louis,  deeply  inAued  with  all  the  superstitions  of 
the  age.  put  full  faith  in  every  part  of  astrology,  and 
dreaded  nothing  more  than  the  eflects  ©f  enchant- 
ment. Nor  could  any  thing  free  his  mind  from  the 
idea,  that  his  brother  had,  in  former  times,  conspir- 
ed against  his  lifei  with  certain  mai^icians  who  were 
actually  executed  for  the  crime  ;  one  among  others 
being  the  famous  Pere  Le  Rouge,  wliom  we  have 
more  than  once  noticed  in  this  sn^e  history.  The- 
Duke  of  Orleans  himself  escaped  with  a  temporary 
banishment,  but  the  circumstance  still  rankled  in 
the  king's  mind  ;  and  at  present  the  anzer  which 
might  perhaps  have  turned  aside  from  Cinq  Mars, 
had  Chavigni  at  first  sutFevedthe  favourite's  name  to 
appear,  now  burst  with  full  force  upon  the  Jess 
favored  Gaston. 

"  Issu  !  a  warrant  for  his  instant  arrest,"  exclaimed 
the  king.  "By  Heaven,  he  shall  not  escape  more 
than  another  man." 

':  May  it  piease  your  majesty  !"'  answered  Cha- 
vigni, '-to  sign  the  warrant  yourself.  Tlds  is  a 
case  of  no  simple  conspiracy,  where  the  kinj^'s  broth- 
er is  at  its  head,  and  many  of  the  Ursl  in  the  king- 
dom its  supporters}  and  tlie  warrants  ought  not  to 
be  simi)le  lettres  de  catchet  of  council,  but  ought  to 
bear  the  royal  signature." 

"  Well,  sir,"' replied  the  king,  "  have  the  warrants 
prepared,  and  1  will  sign  them.  I  am  going  now  to 
hunt,  and  at  my  return  we  v\'ill  examine  these  pa- 
ers  and  speak  farther." 

'•I  have  the  wnrranls   draw*  QUt  iicre/'  said  the 


I 


illCilELIEU.  21 1^* 

statesman,  not  choosing  to  let  the  first  impression 
subside.  "  It  will  not  detain  your  majesty  a  mo- 
ment; I  felt  convinced  that  you  would  not  allow 
justice  to  slumber,and  therefore  had  them  prepared. 
This  is  against  the  body  of  Gaston  of  France,  Duke 
of  Orlctins/'  he  continued,  looking  at  one  of  the 
papers. 

'•  Well,  gfive  it  to  me  !"  exclaimed  the  king,  tak- 
ing up  a  pen  ;  '•'  it  shall  be  done  at  once." 

Chavigni  put  the  warrant  in  Louis's  hand,  and 
looked  at  him  with  intense  feeling,and  a  triumphant 
smile,as  he  hastily  wrote  his  signature  to  it.  ''Now/* 
thought  Chavigni,  "  I  have  you,  one  and  all.  Now, 
proud  Cinq  Mars,  and  calculating  Bouillon,  you  are 
in  my  power !  He  s  gns  the  warrant  against  hiaown 
brother,  and  he  dare  not  let  you  escape  3"  and, 
countersigning  the  warrant,  he  put  a  second  into 
the  king's  hand, — "That  is  against  the  Duke  of 
Bouillon,  sire  '."  and  he  calmy  took  up  the  first,  and 
placed  it  in  his  portfolio. 

"  The  Duke  of  Bouillon.'"  exclaimed  Louis,  with 
a  sudden  start,  remembering  the  orders  he  had  sent 
him,  and  terrified  lest  Richelieu  sliould  have  discov- 
ered them.     "  Is  his  name  to  that  paper  ?" 

"  No,  sire  I"  answered  the  statesman  ;  "  it  is  not. 
But  in  the  treaty  itself,  there  is  abundant  proof  of 
concurrence  3  and  it  was  on  its  way  to  him  in  Italy 
when  it  was  discovered.  The  same  messenger  bore 
it  that  conveyed  to  him  your  orders  to  march  his 
troops  into  France  :"  and  Chavigni  fixed  his  keen 
penetrating  glance  upon  the  king's  countenance. 
Louis  turned  away  his  liead,  and  signed  the  warrant; 
while  Chavigni  proceeded  to  place  before  him  that 
against  Fontrailles,  and  subsequently  one  which  au- 
thorised the  arrest  of  Cinq  Mars. 

'•'  How  .'■'  exclaimed  the  king,  '•'  here  are  the  first 
and  most  loyal  men  in  my  kingdom.  Monsieur  dc 
Chavigni,  this  is  going ^too  far^.'' 

"Their  names,  my  liege,",]" answered  Chavigni, 
"are  afiixed  to  the  treasonable  treaty  in  my  hand." 

VOL.  II.        15 


218  RICHELIEU. 

"  It  cannot  be  !"  cried  Louis,  an  expression  of 
painful  apprehension  comiiig  over  his  countenance  : 
"  It  cannot  be  !  My  faitliful,  loyal  Cinq  Mars  is  no 
traitor.  I  will  never  believe  it  I"  And  he  threw 
himself  into  a  seat,  and  covered  his  eyes  with  his 
hands. 

Cbavigni  opened  the  treaty  calmly,  and  briefly  re- 
capitulated the  principal  articles.  ''  The  first  item 
is,  my  liege,'"'  he  proceeded,  "  that  Spain  sliall  in- 
stantly furnish  ten  thousand  men  to  enter  France 
by  the  way  of  Flanders;  and  for  a  security  to  his 
Catholic  inajesty,  a  second  item  provides,  that  the 
Duke  of  Bouillon  shall  place  in  his  hands,  for  the 
time  being,  the  Principality  of  Sedan.  A  tljird  goes 
on  to  arrange,  that  five  principal  fortified  towns  of 
France  shall  be  given  into  the  hands  of  Spain;  and 
the  whole  concludes,  with  a  solemn  alliance,  oft'en- 
sive  and  defensive,  between  the  conspirati.rs  and 
the  Spanish  king. — And  to  this  treaty,"  added  he, 
in  a  firm,  deep  tone  of  voice,  "stand  the  names  oi 
Cinq  Mars  and  Fontrailles." 

'•Cinq  Mars  has  been  deceived,  misled,  abused  !" 
cried  the  king,  with  a  dejree  of  agitation  almost 
amounting  to  agony. 

"  That  will  appear  on  his  trial,  my  li€ge,"  rejoin- 
ed Chavigni  ;  and  then  wishing  rather  to  sof?en  the 
hard  task  he  called  upon  Louis  to  perform, he  added 
in  a  gentler  manner,  •'•  Your  majesty  was^born  vu- 
der  the  sign  JL?6ro,  and  have  alwajs  merited  the 
name  of  Just.  If  any  thing  in  extenuation  of  his 
fault  appear  in  tl.e  case  of  Monsieur  le  Grand  Ecuy- 
er,  it  can  be  taken  into  your  merciful  rcnsideration 
after  his  arrest;  but  havinr  calmly  given  an  order  f 
for  the  imprisonment  of  )oui-  own  "royal  brother, 
your  majesty  cannot,  will  not,  show  the  mai.ifest 
partiality  of  letting  a  person  equally  culf>able  es- 
cape. May  I  once  more  request  jour  majesty  to 
BJi^n  the  warrant  V 

'  Well,  well  !'"'  cried  Louis,snatching  up  the  pen. 
''  But  remember.  Cinq  Mars  must  be  pardoned.  He 
hag    been   deceived  by  that  treacherous  Duke    of 


RICHTiLIEU.  219 

Bouillon  and  the  oily  Fonlrailles.  Oh,  he  is  vM 
honor  and  loyaltyj  have  I  not  experienced  a  thousaiid 
instances  of  his  affection  ?  It  is  false  1  it  is  false  V 
And  he  dashed  down  the  pen  without  using  it. 

Chavigni  gazed  on  him  for  a  moment  with  a  feel 
ing  very  nearly  allied  to  contempt.  "  Well  then, 
your  majesty."  he  said  at  length,  "  is  it  your  pleas- 
ure that  I  cause  the  arrest  of  the  Dukes  of  Orleans 
and  Bouillon,  with  Monsieur  de  Fontrailles,  and 
others  concerned  in  this  conspiracy,  and  let  Mon- 
sieur de  Cinq  Mars  know  that  Louis  the  Just  makes 
a  distinction  between  him  and  other  men  ?" 

"  No,  no,  Chavigni,"  replied  Louis,  mournfully  j 
"give  rne  the  paper — I  will  sign  it — But  Cinq  Mars 
must  be  saved.  He  has  been  deceived — I  will  sign 
it ;"  and  turning  away  his  head,  he  wrote  his  name 
with  a  trembling  hand.  But  still  he  continued  to 
hold  the  warrant,  as  if  unwilling  to  part  with  it,  re- 
peating more  than  once  in  a  tone  rather  of  entrea- 
ty than  command,  "  Indeed,  [indeed,  Chavigni,  he 
must  be  saved  !" 

"  Will  your  majesty  look  at  this  pa'-t  of  the  trea- 
ty to  see  that  i  have  stated  it  correctly  ?"  said  the 
statesman,  offering  the  papers  to  the  king.  Louis 
laid  down  the  warrant  to  receive  them  ;  and  Cha- 
vigni instantly  raising  the  order  for  tiie  arrest  of 
Cinq  Mars  from  the  table,  placed  it  in  his  portfolio 
with  the  rest.  Louis  saw  it  was  gone  beyond  his 
recall  ;  and  Jropping  the  treaty  from  his  hands,  hid 
his  face  in  his  cloak  with  feelings  near  akin  to  de- 
spair. 

Chavii^ni's  object  was  gained,  and  the  power  of 
Richelieu  re-established.  Not  only  all  the  conspira- 
tors were  delivered  bound 'into  his  hands,  but  the 
king  himself  was  virtually  in  his  power.  Too  weak, 
as  the  statesman  well  knew,  to  stand  alone,  or  to 
choose  new  ministers  for  himself,  Louis  had  no  re- 
source but  to  yield  himself  once  nmrc  blindly  to  the 
guidance  of  the  cardinal ;  and  from  the  moment  he 
had  signed  the  warrant  against  Cinq  Mars,  Chavig- 
ni looked  upon  him  but  as^a  royal  tool  to  work  out 


220  RICHELIEU. 

the  designs  of  that  great  unshrinking  politician^ 
■who  had  already  so  long  used  him  for  his  own  pur- 
poses. 

The  unfortunate  monarch,  also,  was  but  too  well 
aware  of  his  own  want  of  energy,  and  of  the  un- 
supported situation  in  which  he  had  left  himself  5 
and  yielding  to  his  ancient  dread  of  Richelieu,  he 
charged  Chavigni  with  a  multitude  of  exculpatory 
messages  to  the  minister,  calling  hini  his  hcstfrienc^ 
and  his  cousin,  and  adding  various  civil  speeches 
and  professions,  which  both  Chavigni  and  the  cardi- 
nal knew  how  to  estimate. 

"  There  are  many  other  persons,  sire,"  said  the 
statesman,  as  he  was  about  to  depart,  "  who  are 
rmplicaled  more  or  less  in  this  unhappy  conspiracyj 
but  as  their  guilt  is  either  in  a  m  nor  degree,  or 
their  rank  less  elevated,  I  will  not  trouble  your  ma- 
jesty to  put  your  personal  signature  to  ihe  warrants^ 
against  them.  In  the  mean  time,  allo.v  me  to  hint 
that  the  king  ought  not  to  be  seen  hunting  with  trai- 
tors when  they  are  known  to  be  so." 

"  ]Xo,  no,"  replied  Louisr  •mournfully;  "lam  in 
no  mood  for  hunting  no-R\  But  %vhere  gcyou, Mon- 
sieur Cliavigni  T  You  will  not  leave  me  for  long," 
added  the  king,  feeling  that  he  must  have  some  one 
to  lean  on,  and  little  caring  who.  so  tiiat  they  yield- 
ed him  support.  '•  You  will  not  leave  m-  for  Jong 
in  this  case  of  danger." 

"  I  am  about  to  proceed  to  Corneille,"  replied 
Chavigni.  •'  to  order  up  a  body  of  the  cardinal's 
guard.  At  present,  I  have  no  escort  but  a  few  ser- 
vants. We  are  surrounded  by- the  retainers  of  the 
different  conspirators,  and,  were  1  to  attempt  the 
execution  of  your  majesty  s  warrant  s.Ave  might  meet 
with  opposition.  But  1  will  coon  set  that  at  rest, 
and  before  to-morrow  morning  there  shall  be  a  thou- 
sand men  in  INTarbonne,  truly  devoted  to  your  ma- 
jesty's service. "'■ 

The  king  gave  an  involuntary  shudder  ;  aid  Cha- 
vigni, with  a  mockery  of  profound    respect,    which   f 
he  felt  but  little, took  leave  and  quitted  the  presence.    . 


RICHELIEU,  ^21 

Bill 

■The  moment  he  was  gone,  Louis  called  to  one  of 
^he  attendants,  and  carefully  shutting  the  door  when 
he  had  entered,  "  Francois,"  said  he,  "  your  are  a 
-silent,  cautious  man — 1  can  trust  you  :  go  to  Mon- 
sieur le  Grand  Ecuyer,  and  if  he  is  alone,  tell  him 
that  France  is  a  climate  dangerous  for  his  health,  to 
betake  himself  elsewhere,  and  that  speedily.  But 
if  there  is  any  one  with  him,  merely  say  that  the 
king  feels  himself  too  unwell  to  enjoy  the  pleasures 
of  the  chase  to  day  3  but  tliat  he  desires  that  his  in- 
disposition may  not  prevent  the  gentlsmen  invited 
from  following  their  sport.  But,  Fran9ois,  watch 
well  Cinq  Mar's  return  5  find  him -out  alone,  and 
give  him  the  first  message.  Only  beware,  that  in  it 
the  king's  name  is  never  mentioned.  Do  you  un- 
derstand 1" 

The  page  bowed  profoundly,  but  still  maintained 
the  same  unbroken  silence,  and  retired  to  fulfil  the 
king's  commands.  The  presence  of  Fontrailles., 
however,  prevented  him  from  delivering  the  warn- 
ing, until  the  master  of  the  horse  returned  from 
hunting,  when  he  found  an  opportnnity  of  speaking 
to  him  alone.  Such  a  caution,  delivered  by  the 
king's  own  page,  alarmed  the  favorite  ;  and  though 
it  was  by  this  time  fate,  he  sent  a  servant  to  see  if 
the  city  gates  were  shut.  The  servant  scarcely  gave 
himself  the  trouble  to  inquire,  but  returning  imme- 
diately, informed  his  master  that  they  were.  Cinq 
Mars  stayed — and  before  the  next  morning,  every 
avenue  from  JNarbonne  was  occupied  by  the  cardi-  . 
nal's  guard. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


Containing  a  journey,  a  discovery,  and  a  strange  sigiit. 

I  HAVE  known  some  persons  in  the   world  who, 
gliding  quietly  through  life,  have  floated  ojti  upon 


222  RICHELIEB, 

the  sti^am  of  time  like  a  boat  on  the  waters  of  a 
broad  and  tranquil  river,  carried  on  bj  the  unruffled 
tide  of  prosperity,  and  lighted  to  their  journey's  end 
by  the  cloudless'sun  of  happiness.  And  1  have  met 
v?ith  others,  whose  star  seemed  to  rise  in  clouds,  to 
hold  its  course  through  storms,  and  to  set  in  blacker 
darkness  than  that  which  gave  it  birth.  But  long 
continued  joy  loses  its  first  zest,  and  uninterrupted 
sorrow  its  tirst  poignancy  ;  habit  rebs  even  misery 
of  its  acuteness;  and  care  that  i«  long  endured, 
brings  along  with  it  the  power  of  longer  endurance. 
It  is  the  sudden  transition  from  joy  to  sorrow,  that 
is  tile  acme  of  human  suffering,  addinpr  the  bitter- 
ness of  regret  for  past  enjoyment  to  all  the  pangs 
of  present  distress. 

It  was  thus  with  Claude  de  Blenau.  All  his  wish- 
es had  been  nearly  fulfilled  ;  hope  had  almost  grown 
into  certainty  5  Pauline  was  almost  his  own  j  when 
he  was  snatched  from  the  bosom  of  joy  and  securi- 
ty to  new  scenes  of  misery  and  danger.  The  few 
last  hours  came  back  to  h's  memory  like  one  of 
those  bright  visions  that  sometimes  visit  our  slum- 
ber, with  every  part  so  truly  told,  so  faithfully  drawn 
that  they  become  too  like  reality,  and  then  when 
our  hearts  are  full  of  scenes  that  we  have  loved,  and 
pleasures  that  we  have  lost,  the  pageant  fades,  and 
we  find  it  but  a  dream. 

When  once  he  had  torn  himself  from  Pauline, the 
objects  round  him  called  forth  little  of  De  Blenau's 
attention.  5  and  the  carriage  in  which  be  was  placed 
rolled  on  for  many  leagues  before  he  had  sufficient- 
ly recovered  his  tranquility  even  to  think  of  the  mi- 
nor points  of  his  situation.  The  moon,  which  at 
their  departure  shone  bright  and  clear  on  the  broad 
masses  of  the  forest,  had  by  this  time  sunk  below 
the  horizon ;  the  darkness  which  had  followed  her 
decline  had  also  passed  away  ;  the  gray  streaks  of 
dawn  had  warmed  into  the  bright  blushes  of  the 
early  morning,  and  the  new-risen  sun  began  to  look 
over  a  dewy  world,  that  awoke  sparkling  and  smil- 
lAi;,  as  if  for  joy  at  his  approach.     But  the  scene 


RICHELIEU.  22S 

which,  at  any  other  time,  would  have  called  up  a 
thousand  remembrances  of  the  happy  days  and  hun- 
ter sports  of  his  youth,  scarcely  now  roused  hira 
from  the  revery  in  which  he  was  plunged  ;  and  if 
he  looked  round,  or  spoke  to  the  person  who  con- 
ducted htin,it  was  merely  to  ascertain  in  what  dirce- 
ti^n  tliey  were  going, or  what  was  the  ultimate  des- 
tination of  their  journey.  Never  before  had  he  so 
completely  abandoned  himself  to  despondency  ;  but 
a^a  second  and  third  day  passed,  he  began  to  recov- 
er from  the  first  bitterness  of  his  feelings,  and  en- 
deavored to  draw  from  the  officer  the  precise  crime 
with  which  be  was  charged,  and  what  circumstances 
of  suspicion  had  arisen  against  him.  But  no  farther 
information  tvas  to  be  procured.  The  officer  con- 
tinued firm  in  the  same  story  he  had  told  the  q'leen 
—that  his  orders  were  to  conduct  him  to  Tarascon, 
and  that  he  was  quite  ignorant  of  the  circumstan- 
atances  which  led  to  his  arrest.  A.ud  with  this  De 
Blenau  was  obliged  to  be  satisfied. 

During  the  journey  the  officer  showed  much  ci- 
vility and  attention  to  the  prisoner,  though  he  took 
good  care  to  place  a  guard  at  the  door  of  his  cham- 
ber when  they  stopped  for  the  night,  which  was  al- 
ways at  the  house  of  one  of  those  private  agents 
of  the  government  already  mentioned,  with  whose 
dwellings  the  officers  of  the  cardinal's  guard  were 
generally  acquainted.  After  proceeding,  however, 
for  several  days,  he  plainly  perceived  that  nothing 
could  be  farther  from  De  Blenau's  thoughts  than 
any  plai:  for  making  his  escape,and,  in  consequence 
the  watc'ii  he  kept  over  his  prisoner  became  far  less 
strict,  which  afforded  the  count  many  opportunities 
of  communicating  freely  with  the  persons  at  the 
various  places  where  they  stopped  for  horses  or  re- 
freshment. 

The  arrest  of  Cinq  Mars  and  several  others,  with 
the  full  restoration  of  the  cardinal's  power,  was  at 
that  moment,  in  France. one  of  those  topics  of  weir- 
der and' interest, which  seem  necessary  from  time  to 
time  to  keep  up  the  sp  rits  of  the  gossipping  classes  of 


224  RICHELIEU. 

society  ;  andthough  the  good  folks  at  inns  and  else- 
where found  the  appearance  of  a  prisoner,  escorted 
by  a  body  of  the  cardinal's  guard,  to  act  as  a  great 
check  upon  their  natural  loquacitv3  yet,  as  the  offi- 
cer was  somewhat  of  a  bon  vivant,  and  rather  at- 
tached to  his  bottle,  the  awe  inspired  by  his  func- 
tions was  not  so  strong  as  to  prevent  the  news  of 
the  grand  ecuyer"s  misfortune  from  reaching  the 
ears  of  De  Blenau,  who  easily  concluded  that,  from 
their  well-known  intimacy,  suspicion  had  fallen  up- 
on himself. 

The  prisoner  and  his  conductors  at  length  began 
to  approach  that  part  of  the  country  where  the  re- 
established minister  held  his  court,  to  which  all  his 
own  retainers  and  friends  were  now  flocking,togeth- 
er  with  many  others,  who,  led  by  hope  or  impelled 
by  fear,  hastened  to  offer  their  servile  adulation  to 
a  man  they  in  general  detested.  The  roads  were 
thus  thronged  with  people,  and  many  a  gay  caval- 
cade passed  by  the  carriage  in  which  De  Blenau  was 
borne  along,  the  horsemen  looking  for  a  moment  in- 
to the  vehicle  out  of  curiosity,  but  quickly  turning 
away  their  eyes  again,  lest  they  should  be  obliged 
to  acknowledge  some  acquaintance  with  a  person 
who  had  fallen  under  the  cardinal's  displeasure. 

It  was  night  when  they  arrived  at  Montolieu,  and 
De  Blenau  asked  his  conductor  if  he  intended  to 
stop  there  till  morning. 

^  No,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  replied  the  officer  5 
"  we  must  proceed  as  speedily  as  possible  to  Mire- 
poix,  where  I  expect  orders  for  my  farther  conduct." 

"  Then  you  go  to  Tarascon,  in  the  Pyrenees,"  said 
De  Blenau.  "  1  thought  his  eminence  was  at  the 
city  of  that  name  by  the  banks  of  tlie  Rhone,  op- 
posite Beaucaire." 

"  He  was  there  some  time  ago,"  replied  the  offi- 
cer j  "but  he  has  since  gone  to  the  mountains, 
where,  doctors  say,  there  are  waters  which  have 
great  virtues  in  sickness  like  his.  For  my  part,  I 
always  thought  the  springs  there  very  bad,  and  nei-    ^ 


RICHELIEU.  225 

iher  Mt  for  man  nor  beast.     But,   nevertheless,   we 
must  hasten  on,  sir." 

The  next  place  they  stopped  at  was  Corneille  ; 
and,  according  to  his  custom,  the  officer  remained 
with  De  Blenau  in  the  carriage,  while  the  troopers 
arranged  every  thing  that  was  necessary  for  pro- 
ceeding on  their  journey.  There  seemed,  howev- 
er, to  be  a  considerable  bustle  among  the  men  ;  and 
after  waiting  patiently  for  a  few  minutes,  the  officer 
drew  back  the  curtain,  and  thrusting  his  head  from 
the  window,  inquired  the  cause  of  delay  ?  The  an- 
swer he  received,  imported  that  no  fresh  horses 
could  be  procured,  and  those  which  had  drawn 
them  so  far  were  incapable  of  proceeding  even  to 
the  next  town.  "  How  happens  it  that  there  are  no 
horses  ?"  demanded  he  impatiently  5  •'  there  ought 
always  to  be  horses  reserved  for  the  use  of  the  gov- 
ernment." To  this  it  was  ireplied,  that  so  many  peo- 
ple had  passed  to  the  court  at  Tarascon,  that  every 
horse  which  could  be  hired,  even  at  an  exhorbitant 
price,  had  been  carried  away. 

The  officer  paused,  as  if  doubting  what  course  to 
pursue  ;  but  there  being  no  remedy,  he  vvas  obliged 
to  alight,  in  order  to  pass  the  night  at  Corneille; 
taking  care,  however,  to  despatch  one  of  the  troop- 
ers to  Mirepoix,  to  bring  any  orders  which  might 
be  waiting  for  him  in  that  town. 

The  moon  was  up,  and  as  De  Blenau  descended 
from  the  carriage,  he  perceived  a  little  stream  dash- 
ing and  glistening  over  the  wheel  of  a  mill,  that 
stood  dark  and  defined  against  the  moonlight  sky. 
It  was  to  this  they  were  apparently  proceeding  ;  and 
as  they  approached  nearer,  there  was  seen  an  irreg- 
ular part  of  the  building  projecting  from  the  rest, 
which  seemed  appropriatad  to  the  particular  use  of 
the  miller.  At  the  same  lime,  on  a  wooden  stair- 
case, which  wound  up  the  outside  of  the  house, 
appeared  a  man,  holding  a  light,  and  habited  in  one 
of  those  dusty  jackets,  which  have  been  the  insig- 
nia of  flour-grinders  from  all  generations.  At  the 
moment  I  speak  of,  he  was  holding  a   conversation 


226  RICHELIEU, 

with  one'of  the  troopers,  and,  by  his  quick  articula- 
tion and  busy  gestures,  seemad  engaged  in  making 
remonstrances,  without  any  great  effect. 

'•  What  does  he  say  ?"  exclaimed  the  officer,  who 
caught  a  few  words  of  their  conversation  as  he  got 
out  of  the  carriage.  ''  That  we  cannot  stop  here  the 
night?  Give  him  a  cuff  of  the  head.  Joly,  to  teach 
him  better  manners  to  the  eardinal^s  guard.  By 
heavens  !  he  shall  find  me  horses  to-night, or  he  shall 
lodge  me  till  to-morrow  !" 

''  Stay,  if  you  will.  Sir  Officer,"  rejoined  the  mil- 
ler, raising  his  voice — "but  I  tell  you  that  you  ougbi 
not  to  stay  ;  and  as  for  laying  a  finger  on  me — you 
know  I  serve  the  cardinal  as  well  as  you.  and  you 
dare  not !" 

"  Dare  not "  cried  the  officer,  who  was  by  this 
time  mounting  the  stairs,  catching  the  miller  by  the 
collar,  and  striking  him  a  slight  blow —  '  You  are  a 
refractory  rascal,  sir  \  Open  the  door  of  your  house, 
or  1  vvill  throw  you  over  the  staircase.  Come,  Mon- 
sieur de  Blenau,  follow  me." 

The  miller  offered  no  resistance,  but  threw  wide 
the  door,  and  let  the  officer  pass  in.  De  Blenau 
came  next,  having  taken  little  notice  of  the  alterca- 
tion 5  but  as  He  went  by  the  miller,  who  held  the 
door  open,  he  heard  him  mutter  to  himself  in  an 
under  voice,  "  He  shall  pay  for  it  with  his  blood." 
in  a  deep  bitter  tone  of  determined  hatred,that  made 
the  count  turn  round,  expecting  to  see  the  ferocious 
countenance  of  an  assassin.  ISothing,  however, 
could  be  m  ore  different  from  the  appearance  of  the 
speaker,  who  was  a  smoolli,  pale-faced  man,  whose 
look  expressed  little  besides  peaceful  tranquility 
and  patient  resignation. 

The  room  into  which  they  entered  was  a  large  un- 
couth chamber,  filled  with  vnrious  articles  of  house- 
hold furniture,  the  unusual  assemblage  of  which 
showed  that  it  was  used  for  most  of  the  different 
purposes  of  life.  There  was  a  bed  in  one  corner, 
with  a  large  screen,  or  paravent,  half  drawn  before 
it^    Beside  the  tire  hung  a  row  of  copper  saucepans 


RICHELIEU.  227 

and  cooking  utensils ;  round  about  were  several 
saddles,  and  other  pieces  of  horse  furniture  ;  and  in 
the  centre  was  a  large  table,  with  two  or  three  half 
emptied  bottles  and  some  glasses, which  bore  marks 
of  having  been  recently  used  }  and  at  the  same  time 
a  long  bench  was  placed  at  one  side  ot  the  table, 
with  three  single  seals  on  the  other. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  apartment  was  a  wood- 
en partition,  evidently  new,  which  seemed  to  sepa- 
rate what  had  once  been  one  large  chamber  into 
two,  with  a  door  of  communication  between  them. 

'•  Oh,  ho  !  JMousieur  Godefroy  !"  exclaimad  the 
officer,  looking  at  the  table,  and  then  turning  a  sig- 
nificant glance  to  the  miller.  "  So,  you  have  been 
carousing,  and  did  not  like  to  let  us  share  in  your 
good  cheer. — But  come,  we  will  not  be  sent  away 
like  a  dog  without  his  dinner.  Let  us  taste  your 
Burgundy  j  and  if  you  were  to  lay  three  of  those 
plump  boudins  upon  the  fire,  they  might  savour  th& 
wine.'' 

"  You  are  very  welcome.  Sir  Officer,  to  any  thing 
the  house  affords,"  replied  the  miller,  neither  civil- 
ly nor  sulkily.  "  Help  yourself  to  the  boudins, yih'\l& 
1  go  down  for  the  wine." 

'•  They  say  in  my  province.  Monsieur  de  Blenau," 
said  the  officer,  placing  a  seat  for  the  prisoner  near 
the  fire,  "  Qui  dort  dine,  c'  qui  fait  V amour  soupe. 
Now,  as  we  have  neither  slept  nor  dined,  and  have 
no  one  to  make  love  to,  let  us  sup  at  least." 

De  Blenau's  only  reply  was,  that  he  had  no  appe- 
tite ;  which  seemed  considerably  to  surprise  the  of- 
ficer, who,  as  soon  as  the  miller  had  brought  in  the 
wine,  and  his  supper  was  ready,  fell  to  with  no  small 
eagerness,  and  did  not  leave  off  till  he  had  transfer- 
red the  greater  part  of  the  trencher's  contents  to 
his  stomach.  The  miller  seemed  more  inclined  to 
follow  the  officer'r  ^  vample  than  De  Blenau ;  and 
his  anger  having  apparently  subsided,  he  pressed  his 
guest  to  continue  the  mealjin  so  sociable  and  friend- 
ly a  manner,  that  De  Blenau  could  scarcely  con- 
ceivQ  that  the  words  he    had  heard  as  he    entered, 


22S 


RICHELIEU. 


had  been  any  thing  but  the  effect  of  momentary  ir- 
ritation. But  sliortly  after  he  had  again  cause  to 
alter  his  opifiion  ;  the  eagerness  with  which  the  mil- 
ler invited  his  companion  to  drink,  producing  bot- 
tle after  bottle  of  different  wines,  generally  denied 
by  their  price  to  persons  in  his  station  of  life ;  and 
the  subdued  glance  of  triumph  with  which  he  view- 
ed the  various  stages  of  intoxication  at  which  tJie 
officer  gradually  arrived;  caught  De  Blenau's  atten- 
tion, and  excited  his  suspicion.  However,  the  ven- 
geante  vihich  the  miller  meditated,  was  of  a  very 
different  nature  from  that  which  the  count  imag- 
ined. ]>\othing  which  could,  by  any  chance,  recoil 
upon  himself  ever  entered  his  thoughts,  and  his 
plan  reached  no  farther  than  to  render  the  man  \\ho 
had  oflended  him  deeply  culpable  in  the  eyes  of 
Richelieu,  thus  calling  upon  his  head  that  Veleat- 
less  anger  which  would  be  much  more  effectual 
vengeance  than  any  punishment  he  could  himself 
inflict. 

Two  or  three  hours  had  passed  in  this  manner, 
durincr  which  time  the  officer  had  made  various  ef- 
forts to  resist  the  fascination  of  the  bottle,  often 
pushing  it  away  from  him,  as  if  resolved  not  to  taste 
another  drop,  and  then  again,  as  he  became  heated 
in  conversation,  drawing  it  back  and  filling  his  glass 
with  an  almost  unconscious  hand,  when  the  sound 
of  a  horse's  feet  was  heard  without.and  starting  up, 
he  declared  that  it  was  news  from  Mirepoix,  and 
staggered  towards  the  door. 

The  moment  he  had  quitted  the  room,  the  miller 
approached  De  Blenau.  glanced  his  eyes  rou;  d  the 
chamber,  and  then  addressed  him  in  a  whisper. 
"  What  a  moment,"  he  said,  "for  a  prisoner  to 
make  his  escape,  while  that  drunkard's  senses  are 
confused  with  wine  V 

De  Blenau  started  at  the  suddenness  of  the  pro- 
posal, and  eyed  his  companion  willi  an  inquiring 
glance.  "  if  you  allude  to  me,"  he  replied  at  length, 
"  I  thank  you,  but  I  have  no  thought  of  escaping." 

•■'  You  have  not  "  said  th?  jniller,  apparently  sur. 


mCHELlKli  P229 

prised.  He  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  added 
— '•'  Oh,  you  reckon  on  your  innocence.  But  let  me 
tell  you,  Sir  Count,  that  thsre  is  both  danger  and 
uncomfort  in  a  long  imprisonment." 

"  I  know  it,"  answered  De  Blenau  ;  "  but  1  would 
rather  submit  to  both,  than  cast  a  suspicion  on  my 
honor  and  my  innocence,  by  attempting  to  fly.'' 

This  was  a  sort  of  reasoning  the  other  did  not 
understand;  and  his  lip  curled  with  a  slight  expres- 
sion of  contempt,  wjiich  would  have  showed  itself 
more  visibly,  had  not  De  Blenau's  rank,  though  a 
prisoner,  kept  the  bourgeois  in  awe.  He  turned 
away,  however,seemingly  with  the  intention  ofquit- 
ting  the  room  ;  but  when  he  got  to  the  other  side, 
he  paused,  laid  his  hand  upon  his  brow,  and  after 
thinking  for  a  moment,  again  came  back  to  De  Ble- 
nau. "  1  advised  you  for  your  own  good,  J/onsieur 
le  Comte,"  he  said  ;  "  and  though  you  will  not  es- 
cape from  the  dangers  of  accusation,!  will  give  you 
the  means  of  provingyour  innocence.  In  that  room," 
and  ho  pointed  to  the  small  door  in  the  partition, 
"you  will  discover  two  packets  of  papers  exactly 
similar;  take  either  of  them,  and  in  that  you  will 
find  enough  to  disprove  all  that  your  enemies  v  ill 
say  against  you." 

"  But,"  said  De  Bienau/'what  riglit  have  I  to  pos- 
sess nivself  of  papers  belonging  nrobabjy  to  anotii- 
er  ?"   ' 

*•' Pshaw  1"  cried  the  miller,  "one  would  think 
that  your  neck  itched  for  the  r.::c  !  Are  you  nf)t  in 
my  hoasc  ?  Do  not  J  bid  you  lake  them  ?  Of  course, 
you  will  not  betray  me  to  the  government  3  but  take 
the  papers,  for  I  give  them^to  you."  And  making 
a  sign  to  De  Blenau  to  use  all  speed,  lie  went  to  the 
door  which  opened  on  the  road.  Before  ho  passed 
it,  however,  he  tnnied  to  the  piisoncr  once  more 
and  cautioned  him  to  make  no  noif^e.  nor  regard  any 
thing  else  in  the  room,  but  after  taking  c  no  of  the 
packets  from  the  tabic  on  which  they  were  placed, 
to  quit  it  as  speedily  as  possible.  The  precaution, 
however,  was  ul;c1c£s  3  for   before   De    Blenau   had 


280  RICHELIEU. 

even  time  to  determine  upon  any  line  of  condtict, 
the  officer  again  entered  the  room,  and,  balancing 
himself  as  well  as  he  could,  contrived  to  arrive  at 
the  table  after  many  a  zigzag  and  many  a  halt.  He 
had  precisely  reached  that  pitch  of  intoxication, 
when  a  man,  having  for  some  time  suspected  that 
he  is  tipsy,  finds  out  that  such  a  supposition  was  en- 
tirely a  mistake,  and  that  he  never  was  more  sober, 
or  more  in  his  senses  in  his  life  ;  consequently,  he 
had  not  the  slightest  objection  to  drink  a  bottle  of 
the  vin  de  Samt  Perct,  which  the  miller  set  before 
him  ;  although  the  Burgundy  he  had  already  imbi- 
bed had  very  considerably  dulled  his  perception.and 
detracted  from  his  locomotive  power.  The  wine, 
as  it  creamed  and  sparkled  in  his  glass,  was  raised 
to  his  head  with  in  increased  difficulty  at  every  re- 
newed draught  ;  and  at  last,  feeling  something  the 
matter  with  him  he  knew  not  what,  he  started  from 
the  table,  made  an  efTort  to  reach  a  chair  by  the  fire, 
but  receiving  instantly  internal  conviction  of  the 
impossibility  of  the  attempt,  he  cast  himself  upon 
the  bed  behind  the  screen,  which  happened  to  be 
nearer  at  hand,  and  in  a  few  minutes  all  his  senses 
wersi  steeped  in  oblivion.  Immediately  the  miller 
raised  his  hand^  pointed  to  the  door  iathe  partition 
and  left  the  apartment  as  if  unwilling  to  witness 
what  was  to  follow. 

De  Blenau  paused  for  z  moment  to  reflect  on  this 
man's  conduct;  but  however  extraordinary  it  mi^ht 
be,  lie  could  see  nothing  to  prevent  his  possessing 
himself  of  papers  which,  he  was  assured,  would 
prove  his  innocence  of  the  crimes  with  which  he 
was  charged — a  thing  not  always  easy  to  the  most 
goiltless.  Accordingly,  rising  from  h's  seat,  he  pas- 
sed by  the  bed  where  the  officer  lay  snoring  in  tiie 
fulness  of  ebriety,  and  opened  the  door  in  the  par- 
tition to  which  he  had  been  directed.  Tiie  mom 
wiih  which  it  communicafcd  was  small,  and  dimly 
lighted  by  a  lamp  that  stood  flickering  on  the  table, 
as  if  it  scarcely  knew  whether  to  go  out  or  not. 
Near  the  lamp  lay  various  implements   for  writing, 


RICHELIEC;       '  231 

together  with  two  papers,  one  folded  up  and  mark- 
ed, the  other  open,  and  seemingly  hardly  finished. 
Around  were  scatered  various  basnets  and  vials, 
which'appeared  tojcontain  the  raedicanents  for  a  sick 
mpn  ;  and  on  one  of  the  chairs  was  thrown  a  long 
sword,  together  with  a  poniard  and  a  brace  of 
pistols. 

De  Blenau  advanced  to  the  table,  and  taking  up 
the  open  paper,  ran  his  eye  hastily  over  its  con- 
tents. In  so  doin?,  his  own  name  met  his  sight  ; 
and  forgetting  the  caution  he  had  received,  to  make 
speed  and  quit  tlie  apartment  as  soon  as  he  had 
possessed  himself  of  it,  he  could  not  refrain  from 
reading  on  : — "  Witn  regard  to  Monsieur  the  Count 
de  Blenau,"  tlie  paper  proceeded,  "the  prisoner 
feels  perfectly  convinced  that  he  was  always  igno- 
rant of  the  treaty  and  the  designs  of  the  conspira- 
tors. For,  Monsieur  de  Cinq  Mars  particularly 
warned  him  (the  prisoner)  never  to  mention  the 
circumstance  before  the  count,  because  that  he  was 
not  to  be  made  acquainted  therewith  5  and  more- 
over— " 

As  De  Blenau  read,  a  deep  groan  came  upon  his 
car,  evidently  proceeding  from  some  one  in  the 
same  room  witli  himself,  and.  holding  up  the  lamp, 
he  endeavored  to  discover  who  it  was  tliat  had  ut- 
tered it  J  but  in  lifting  it  suddenly,  the  feeble  light 
was  at  once  extinguished,  and  tiic  whole  chamber 
remained  in  rlarkness,  except  wiier.e  a  gleam  came 
through  tlie  door  way  of  t!ie  other  room. 

"  Godefroy  !"  Godefroy  !''  exclaimed  a  faint 
voice,  "'do  not  put  out  the  light — why  have  you  left 
me  so  long? — 1  am  dying,  I  am  sure  I  am  dying." 

"  1  will  bring  another  light,"  said  the  count,  "  and 
bo  with  you  instantly."  And  forgetting,  in  the  hur- 
ry of  the  moment,  his  peculiar  situation,  and  the 
caution  which  ought  to  have  accompanied  it,  he 
hastened  into  the  other  apartment,  where  the  offi- 
cer still  lay  undisturbed  in  his  diunken  slumbers, 
and  taking  one  of  the  rosia  candles  from  the  table, 


232  "  RICHELILD 

returned  to  give  what  succour  he  could  to  the  per- 
son whose  faint  voice  he  had  heard. 

On  re-entering  the  cliamber  with  the  ^tr.niger 
light  which  he  now  brought,  his  eyes  fell  upon  the 
drawn  curtains  of  an  alcove  bed  at  the  farther  ex- 
tremity; and  approaching  quickly,  he  pulled  them 
back,  shading  the  candle  as  well  as  he  could,  to 
prevent  its  glare  from  offending  the  eyes  of  the  sick 
person. 

But  his  precaution  was  in  vain.  Light  and  dark- 
ness had  become  the  same  to  the  pale  inanimate 
form  before  him.  De  Blenau  saw  that,  during  the 
moment  of  his  absence,  being  had  passed  away  ; 
and  holding  the  light  nearer  to  the  bed,  he  thought 
he  could  trace,  in  the  disfigured  countenance  that 
lay  in  ashy  paleness  upon  the  pillow,  the  features 
of  the  grand  ecuyer's  Italian  lute-player,  Villa 
Grande. 

He  vv'as  engaged  in  examining  them  more  atten 
tively,  when  some  one  silently  laid  their  hand  upon 
liis  arm,  and  turning  quickly  tound,  he  beheld  Cha- 
vigni,  while  the  counlenance  of  the  miller  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  very  littie  less  pale  than  th^t  of  the 
dead  man.  De  Blenau's  first  impulse  was  to  point 
to  the  dead  man,  while  his  eyes  rested  on  the 
c  untenance  ofChavigni,  in  which  a  slight  degree  of 
agitation  showed  itself  for  a  moment,  and  then  dis- 
appeared. 

■'  So  !"  said  the  statesman,  regarding  the  lifeless 
body  of  V'illa  Grande,  "  he  is  dead,  poor  wretch? — 
Gone  on  that  uncertain  journey  which  lie*^  before 
us  all,  like  a  land  covered  with  a  thick  mist,  v.hose 
paths,  or  whose  termination,  none  of  us  can  discov- 
er. But,  to  matters  of  life  and  moment,"  he  con- 
tinund,  '-'What  do  vou  here,  Monsieur  do  Ble- 
nau V 

'■  I  should  suppose,  f;ir,  liiat  you  are  better  ac- 
(luainted  with  the  object  of  my  "journey  than  I  am 
myself,''  replied  the  count.  "  You  must  be  well 
aware  that  il  was  undertaken  against  my  will." 

'•  You   have   mistaken   mo,   sir,"  said  Chavigui. 


racuELiEy,  233 

"  The  end  of  your  journey  hither  I  am  well  aware 
of.  But  how  came  you  in  this  chanaber  ?  What 
do  you  with  that  paper  which  was  in  your  hand  ? 
1.  expect  a  stiaightforward  answer." 

"  Did  I  give  you  any,  sir/'  replied  De  Elenau, 
"my  answer  should  be  straightfom'ard.  But  you 
©ught  to  have  known  me  better  than  so  proudly  to 
demand  a  reply,  when  you  are  unentitled  to  inter- 
rogate me.  Being  a  prisoner,  I  must  be  guarded  as 
such,  though  I  tell  you  at  once  1  have  no  intention 
of  trying  to  escape  3  and  being  defenceless,  you 
may  take  these  papers  f  om  me,  though  they  are 
material  proofs  of  my  innocence.  However,  I  will 
rely  upon  your  justice, — upon  your  honor, — that 
whatever  charges  be  brought  against  me,  the  con- 
lession  of  this  rnan  may  be  opposed  to  them  in  my 
justification.  ' 

"  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  I  wish  you  would  some- 
times give  n>e  an  excuse  for  doubting  your  sinceri- 
ty ;  foE  then  I  could  see  the  fate  which  is  like  to  be- 
tide you,  without  regret.  V/lien  you  were  liberat- 
ed from  the  Bastile,  i  told  you.  that  the  eye  of  an 
angry  man  was  upon  you,  and  warned  you  as  a  friend 
to  avoid  all  cause  of  suspicion.  The  minister  has 
never  forgotten  you.  You  were  the  first  who 
brought  a  shadow  over  hisdominion — I  hope,  there- 
fore, that  your  innocence  can  be  proved  beyond  a 
doubt ;  for  mercy  and  tend.rness  between  you  and 
the  cardinal  are  out  of  the  question.  Neverthe- 
less, I  cannot  let  you  keep  this  paper,  which  be- 
longs to  the  council  ;  but  I  will  take  care  that  any 
thing  which  it  contains  in  your  .favor  shall  not  be 
lost.  In  the  mean  while  I  shall  be  obliged  to  send 
you  to  Lyons  ;  and  Heaven  speed  you  as  safely  out 
of  this  scrape  as  out  of  tiie  last." 

"  If  perfect  innocence  of  any  crime  towards  the 
state  can  save  me,''  said  De  Blenau,  following 
Chavigni  into  the  outer  room,  "I  have  nothing  to 
fear." 

"  I  hope  it  is  so,"  replied  the  statesman.    "  And 

roL.  11.  16 


234  RICHELIEU. 

aow,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  miller,  "let  me 
tell  you,  Master  Godefroy,  that  you  are  highly  cul- 
pable yourself,  for  leaving  a  state  prisoner  wholly 
without  guard  when  you  saw  the  officer,  in  whose 
custody  he  was,  in  such  a  state  as  this,  Make  no 
excuses,  sir — it  shall  be  remembered." 

Chavigni  now  approached  the  drunken  man,  and 
tried  to  rouse  him  ;  but  finding  it  in  vain,  he  called 
in  the  sergeant,  and  writing-  a  few  words  for  his 
warranty,  ordered  him  to  conduct  the  officer,  next 
morning,  to  Tarascon  under  arrest. 

"  Monsieur  de  Blenau/'"  he  continued,  turning  to 
the  count,  "  you  will  do  me  the  f&vor  of  accompa- 
nying me  to  Montolieu.  The  horses  attached  to 
my  carriage  are  fresher  than  those  which  drew 
you." 

The  promptitude  with  which  Chavigni's  orders 
were  given,  brought  all  the  preparations  to  a  rapid 
conclusion.  A  few  minutes  sufficed  him  to  issue 
the  necessary  commands  for  transferring  the  bag- 
gage which  had  been  brought  with  De  Blenau  lo 
the  other  carriage  ;  and  adding  a  few  clear  rapid 
directions  to  the  miller  concerning  the  body  of  Vil- 
la Grande,  the  statesman  was  ready  to  accompai.y 
De  Blenau  before  he  had  been  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  in  the  house. 

At  Montolieu,  De  Blenau  was  pe  mitted  to  rest  a 
day,  and  was  then  sent  forward  under  a  fresh  es- 
cort to  Lyons.  The  prisoner  was  now  hurried  rap- 
idly on  his  journey,  travelling  the  whole  of  the 
first  night,  and  at  last  only  stopping  for  a  few  hours 
to  give  him  some  repose  at  a  village  about  eight 
leagues  from  the  city  to  w!:ich  he  was  proceeding. 
As  soon  as  daylight  dawned,  they  again  began  their 
journey  ;  and  taking  the  lower  road  by  the  banks  of 
the  Rhone,  gradually  approached  the  ancient  tov/n 
of  Lyons. 

The  first  pause  they  made  was  a  compelled  one, 
upon  the  wouden  bridge,  situated  on  the  river  just 
below  the  town.  This  entrance  had  been  chosen 
to  avoid  the  more  populous  suburbs  :  but  the  ri.ji- 


UIOHELIEU.  235 

tluctor  of  the  escort  had  been  mistaken  in  his  caU 
tJulatioHj  for  owing  to  some  circumstances  of  gen- 
eral interest,  which  drew  all  the  idle  and  the  curi- 
ous to  that  spot,  tbe  bridge  nnd  the  alleys  to  it 
were  entirely  covered  with  dense  masses  of  hu- 
man beings,  which  completely  obstructed  the  way. 
With  difficulty  the  carriage  was  dragged  half  over 
the  bridge  ;  and  then,notwilhstanding  the  exertions 
of  the  guard,  it  was  obliged  to  stop.  De  Blenau 
drew  back  the  leather  curtain  which  obstructed  his 
view,  and  turning  his  eyes  towards  the  river,  a  scene 
burst  upon  his  sight  which  at  once  explained  to 
him  the  cause  ot  such  an  assemblage. 

There  was  a  small  but  magnificent  galley  making 
its  way  slowly  to  the  landing-place.  The  rigging 
-was  adorned  with  streamers  ;  the  deck  glittered 
with  all  the  splendid  apparal  of  a  court,  the  rowers 
were  clothed  in  rich  uniform,  scarcely  different 
from  that  of  the  guards  which  flanked  each  bank  of 
oars  ;  gold,  and  jewels,  and  blazonry  shown  around 
But  the  spot  on  which  all  eyes  rested  was  a  small 
canopy  of  rich  embroidery,  upheld  above  the  deck 
on  silver  poles  by  four  officers  of  ihe  guard,  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  keep  off  the  rays  of  the  sun,  but  not 
impede  the  breeze  of  the  river  from  playing  round 
a  pile  of  rich  velvet  cushions,  on  which,  amid  the 
pomp  and  display  of  a  sovereign  prince, lay  the  ema- 
ciated form  of  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu.  His 
tjountenanre  was  calm  and  unmoved  5  indeed,  he 
seemed  hardly  to  regard  the  scene  around,  listening 
to  the  conversation  of  an  abbe,  who  stood  beside 
him  for  the  sole  purpose  of  amusing  him  by  various 
tales  and  anecdotes  during  the  voyage.  Sometimes, 
however,  he  would  raise  his  eyes,  and  appear  to 
speak  to  some  of  those  who  stood  by  5  and  then  his 
glance  would  rapidly  turn  towards  a  smaller  boat, 
which  attached  by  ;wo  long  ropes,  was  towed  on 
at  the  stern  of  his  own  galley.  In  that  boat,  seated 
between  two  of  the  cardinal's  guard,  sat  the  im- 
prudent and  unfortunate  Cinq  Mars,  and  his  com- 
panion in  misfortune;  Do  Thou.    All  the  gay  gal- 


236  aiCHELlEy. 

lanl  spirit  of  the  master  of  the  horse,  which  once 
taught  him  to  scoff  at  the  very  idea  of  adve-sity  as 
at  a  bugbear  of  the  imagination,  was  now  quelled 
and  lost,  and  with  a  bending  head,  and  eyes  cast 
down,  he  sat  perfectly  motionless,  like  a  lifeless  but 
elegant  statue.  De  Thou,  on  the  contrary,  calmly 
surveyed  the  passing  scene.  He  seemed  to  have 
forgot  that  he  was  there  as  a  prisoner,  borne,  a 
part  of  that  barbarous  triumph  which  his  enemy  wa3~ 
enjoying ;  and,  even  w  hen  his  glance  met  that  of 
the  cardinal,  his  countenance  remained  undisturb- 
ed by  any  emotion  of  anger,  or  any  expression  of 
reproach. 

I  have  said^that  Richelieu  wculd  sometimes  turn-- 
his  look  towards  the  boat  in  which  his  cnptivtS 
were  borne  along  ;  and  still  when  he  did  so,  a  mo- 
mentary gleam  would  lighten  in  his  ejes,  and  he 
would  hastily  glance  them  round  the  muUitude  that 
lined  the  shores  and  the  bridge.  But  there  was  no- 
Bound  of  gratulation  met  his  ear,  no  acclamation  for 
his  regained  ascendancy.  The  busy  whisper  of 
curiosity  would  stir  among  the  people,  or  perhaps 
the  murmur  of  compassion,  as  they  gazed  upon  the 
victims  about  to  be  sacrificed  to  his  vengeance. 
But  there  was  no  love  to  express  5  and  fear  chang- 
ed their  curses  into  the  bitterness  of  silence. 

Such  was  the  scene  in  the  midst  of  which  De 
Blenau  found  himself,  when  the  carriage  slopped. 
He  had  just  time  to  become  aware  of  all  its  most 
painful  circumstances,  when  the  guards  again  open- 
ed a  way  through  the  people,  and  the  vehicle  pass- 
ed on.  The  high  round  tower  of  Pierre-en-S>.ize,. 
raising  its  dark  mass  above  the  rest  of  the  prison, 
was  the  next  thing  that  met  his  view,  and  he  doubt- 
ed not  that  the  place  of  his  imprisonment  was  be- 
fore him  ;  but  the  carriage  rolled  on  into  the  great 
Place  Terreau.i,  where  it  suddenly  drew  up. 

"  Then  1  am  not  to  be  taken  to  Pierre-en-Scize  ?" 
said  De  Blenau  to  the  officer  who  had  accompani- 
ed him  from  Montolieu. 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  Corale,"  replied. he,  "  Pierre- 


aiOHELIKU.  237 

"cn-Scize  will  be  sufficiently  occupied  with  Messi- 
eurs Cinq  Mars,  De  Thou,  and  others;  and  when 
Monsieur  de  Bouillon,  and  the  Duke  of  Orleans — " 

••  Good  God  !"  exclaimed  De  Blenau,  ^' is  the 
Duke  of  Origans  implicated  in  this  unfortunate 
business  !" 

The  officer  smiled.  "  Why,  they  do  say,  sir,  that 
the  king  himself  is  in  the  conspiracy.  But  as  to 
the  duke,  you  know  more  of  his  share  in  it  than 
-any  one  else — at  least  so  we  are  told.  But  1  must 
now  beg  you  to  descend." 

"  You  are  under  a  mistake,  sir,"  replied  De  Ble- 
nau.  "  I  know  notiiing  of  the  duke,  and  as  little  of 
the  conspiracy.''  And  following  the  officer,  he  en- 
tered a  house  in  the  Place  Terreaux,  which  had 
been  changed  for  the  time  from  one  of  the  public 
offices  of  the  city  into  a  place  of  confinement,  and 
oft'ered  all  the  security  without  the  horrors  of  a 
prison.  The  windows  were  grated,  it  is  true,  but 
they  looked  out  into  the  free  world  below,  and  the 
captive  might  sit  there  and  forget  that  he  was  de- 
.Bied  the  power  of  joining  the  gay  throng  that  pass- 
ed along  beiore  his  eyes  in  all  the  pride  of  liber- 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Oiving  a  good  receipt  for  proving  a  man  guiKy  when  he  is  in- 
nocent. 


De  Blenau  had  not  been  long  in  his  new  abode, 
before  he  learned  that  the  express  orders  of  Cha- 
vigni  had  caused  him  to  be  carried  thither,  rather 
than  to  Pierre-en-Scize,  where  his  confinement 
would  have  been  more  strict;  and  he  felt  grateful 


23S  .aicrfEUEir: 

for  this  mark  of  the  statesman's  consideration.  For 
the  first  few  days,  too,  he  experienced  every  kind 
of  attention,  and  was  permitted  to  enjoy  all  sort  of 
liberty  consistent  with  his  safe  custody. 

But  this  was  not  de.stined  to  endure  long  ;  and 
his  imprisonment  gradually  became]  more  rigorouB 
than  that  which  he  had  undergone  in  the  Bastille. 
The  use  of  books  and  writing  materials  was  denied 
kim,  and  every  means  of  employing  his  thoughts 
seemed  studiously  withheld.  This  mode  of  weak- 
ening the  mind  by  leaving  it  to  prey  upon  itself, 
had  its  effect  even  on  De  Blenau.  He  became  irri- 
table and  desponding;  and  as  he  received  no  inti- 
mation in  regard  to  the  charge  against  him,  he  be- 
f\n  to  conjure  up  a  thousand  vague  unreal  images, 
aiil  to  destroy  them  as  soon  as  raised. 

After  this  had  continued  for  some  days,  he  was 
surprised  by  the  door  of  his  apartment  opening  one 
night,  at  the  moment  he  was  about  to  retire  to  rest^ 
giving  admittance  to  the  corrupt  Judge  Lafemas, 
and  a  person  habited  as  one  of  the  grefficrs  of  the 
court.  There  are  some  who  are  cruel  from  fear, 
and  some  from,  motives  of  interest  :  but  few,  1 
trust,  who  from  natural  propensity  rejoice  in  the 
sufferings  of  a  fellow-creature.  Such,  however, 
was  the  character  of  Lafemas — at  least  if  we  may 
believe  the  histories  of  the  time  ;  and  in  the  pres- 
ent instance  he  entered  the  chamber  of  De  Blenau 
with  a  countenance  which  certainly  expressed  no 
great  unwillingness  in  the  performance  of  what  is 
always  painful  when  it  is  a  duty. 

In  this  place  we  shall  but  give  a  small  part  of  the 
conversation  between  De  Blenau  and  the  judge  , 
for  the  course  of  examination  which  the  latter  pur- 
sued towards  the  prisoner  was  so  precisely  similar 
in  its  nature  to  that  which  he  followed  on  a  former 
©ccasion  in  the  Bastille,  that  its  repetition  is  un- 
necessary, especially  as  our  history  is  now  hurrying- 
rapidly  to  its  awful  and  inevitable  conclusion.  A 
part  of   it,  however,  may  serve  to   illustrate   the 


RICHELIEU. 


289 


charges  brought  against  De  Blenau,  and  the  cir- 
sumstances  on  which  they  were  founded. 

"  Good  night,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  said  Lafe- 
tnas,  approaching  the  table  at  which  he  sat.  "  I 
did  not  think  to  meet  yoi^  again  in  prison  :  1  had 
hoped  that  when  last  you  escaped  so  well,  you 
would  have  been  careful  to  keep  yourself  free  from 
any  thing  of  this  kind." 

•'  Good  night.  Monsieur  le  Judge,"  replied  De 
Blenau  ;  "  do  me  the  favour  of  sitting  down — for  I 
suppose  I  may  do  the  honors  of  my  chamber,  though 
it  be  but  a  prison.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir;  for  I 
trust  you  can  inform  me  why  I  am  here  confined." 

•' Monsieur  de  Blenau,"  said  the  judge,  seating 
himself,  "  we  will  be  frank  with  one  another.  You 
are  very  well  aware  how  deeply  you  are  implicated 
in  this  conspiracy  :  and  I  will  tell  ^ou  that  we  have 
ample  proofs  of  every  thing.  But  at  the  same  time 
I  know  of  a  way  by  which  you  can  save  yourself ; 
a  way  which  one  or  two  highly  honorable  men  have 
embraced,  having  been  misled  at  first  by  designing 
persons,  but  having  returned  to  a  sense  of  duty  and 
honor,  and  confessed  all  they  knew,  together  with 
the  names  of  those  they  supposed  to  be  among  the 
guilty." 

'•'  I  have  no  doubt,  sir,"  replied  the  count,  "that 
all  and  every  thing  you  say  is  correct  and  right. 
But  there  is  one  point,  on  which  1  am  in  the  dark. 
I  am  not  aware  of  what  conspiracy  you  mean. — I 
have,  it  is  true,  conspired — "  Lafemas  turned  an 
attentive  ear,  and  De  Blenau  perceived  that  the 
greffier  who  had  followed  the  judge  was  making  a 
note  of  all  that  passed.  ''  Stop,  gentleman,"  said 
he,  nodding  to  the  officer ;  "  take  the  whole  of  my 
sentence,  I  beg.  You  shall  have  it  in  plain  lan- 
guage— I  have,  it  is  true,  conspired  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  with  sundry  of  his  majesty's  lieges, 
to  kill  a  fat  buck  or  a  lusty  boar,  in  various  of  the 
royal  forests  in  this  kingdom.  But  this  is  the  only 
conspiracy  of  which  I  have  been  guilty;  and  for 


240  RiCtiiLIEU- 

that  1  can  plead  his  majesty's  free  permission  and 
pardon." 

•'  'Mi  this  ia  verv  jrood,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said 
Laren»as,  his  bruws  dnrkening;  '"'but  I  must  tell 
3o;j  that  it  will  not  ser\'«  the  parposo  you  propose. 
I  came  liere  to  you  as  a  friend — " 

"  And  as  a  friend,"  interrupted  De  Blenau,  "  you 
brought  with  you  that  gentleman  in  black  to  take 
down  my  words,  in  case  I  should  be  at  a  loss  to  re- 
member what  1  had  said." 

"  I  must  once  more  tcl!  you,  sir,"  said  the  judge, 
"  that  this  will  ncit  ansnf"^  your  purpose,  for  a  full 
confession  has  been  made  by  Monsieur  ue  Cinq 
Mars  since  his  condemniition." 

••  Since  his  conderfinatioa  !'  exelaiiped  De  Ble- 
nau. "  Good  God  !  is  it  possible  that  he  is  con- 
demned ?'•'' 

Lafemas  was  little  capable  of  understanding  any 
of  those  finer  feelings  which  brighten  the  dull  void 
of  human  existence.^  He  read  from  the  black  page 
of  his  own  mind,  and  fancied  that  every  other  was 
■written  in  the  same  dark  character.  All  that  he 
saw  in  the  exclamrttion  of  De  Bicnau  was  fear  for 
himself,  not  feeling  for  hi?  friend  :  and  he  replied, 
"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Compte,  he  is  condemned  to 
lose  his  head  for  the  crimes  of  which  he  has  been 
guilty  :  the  question  also  formed  part  of  his  sen- 
tence, but  this  he  has  avoided  by  making- a  full  con- 
fession, in  which,  as  you  may  easily  suppose,  your 
name  is  very  fully  comprised.'' 

"  You  may  as  well  ceass,  sir,"  replied  the  count 
''  ic  may  indeed  be  true  that  my  unhappy  'riend  is 
guilty  and  has  con"  ssed  h;3  guilt  j  but  no  language 
jou  can  use  will  jver  p-^rsuade  me  that,  knowing 
my  innocence,  as  he  well  does,  he  would  say  any 
thing  that  could  implicate  me. — I  will  farther  an- 
swer every  thij.g  that  can  possibly  be  asked  o;  me 
in  very  few  words.  As  to  myself,  I  have  not:  i-g 
to  confess,  for  I  am  perfectly 'guiltless  towards  the 
Btate  :  and  as  to  others,  I  can  give  no  information. 


RICHEHEU.  \241 

for  I  am  wholly  ignorant  of  any  plot,  conspiracy,  or 

•treason  whatsoever." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  your  obstinacy,  Monsieur  de 
Blenau,-' said  Lafiemas,  rising:  "  for  the  cardinal 
has  resolved  that  you  shall  confess,  and  we  have 
the  means  of  making  the  most  stubborn  answer.  1 
am,  in  fact,  commanded  this  very  nijht  to  use  meas- 
ures which  might  not  be  very  agreeable  to  you. 
But  i  give  you  till  to-morrow  to  consider,  and  so 
bid  you  farewell." 

The  plans  of  Cinq  Mars  had  run  into  various 
ramifications,  involving  a  mnltitnde  of  persons  in  a 
greater  or  less  degree  ;  but  all  fell  equally  under 
the  hatred  of  the  cardinal,  and  he  spared  no  means, 
legal  or  illegal,  to  discover  the  most  remote  wind- 
mgs  of  the  conspiracy,  and  to  force  or  induce  the 
various  parties  to  it  to  make  confessions,  which 
were  afterward  used  as  evidence  against  them- 
selves, as  well  as  others.  As  the  proofs  against 
De  Blenau  were,  of  course,  very  defective,  the 
last  command  of  Richelieu  to  Lafemas,  before  leav- 
ing Lyons,  was  to  .spare  no  power  of  intimidation, 
in  order  to  make  the  prisoner  criminate  himself,  be- 
fore even  g^ranting  him  the  form  of  a  trial,  in  pur- 
suance of  these  directions,  Lafemas  ceased  not  for 
some  days  to  torment  De  Blenau  with  continual  in- 
terrogatories, mingled  with  menaces  and  irritation, 
ingeniously  calculated  either  to  frighten  his  victim 
into  some  confession  of  guilt,  or  to  throw  him  off 
his  guard  by  rousing  his  anger.  More  than  once  he 
was  carried  into  the  chamber  of  the  question,  a»id 
once  was  even  bound  to  the  rack.  But  though,  in 
the  secret  halls  of  the  Bastille,  Lafemas  would  not 
have  scrupled  to  proceed  to  any  act  of  cruelty,  yet 
at  Lyons,  amir'  i-r-^ple  upon  whose  silence  he 
could  not  rely,  he  dared  not  put  the  prisoner  to  the 
question,  without  seme  appearance  of  legal  authori- 
ty. At  len.'];th,  therefore,  the  day  for  his  trial  was 
fixed;  but  yet  Lafemas  prepared  to  make  him  pre- 
viously undergo  a  species  of  refined  torturQ,  which 
none  but  a  demon  could  have  devised. 


242  RlOHELiEU. 

Denied  all  privileges  usually  conceded  to  pria 
oners,  unacquainted  with  the  precise  charges  to  be 
brought  against  him,  refus-ed  all  legal  assistance, 
and  debarred'  the  use  of  pen  and  ink,  De  Bienait 
clearly  saw  that  Richelieu  had  resolved  on  bis  de- 
struction, aod  merely  granted  him  the  form  of  a 
trial  to  gloss  over  his  tyranny  in  the  eyes  of  the 
people  ;  nevertheless,  he  prepared  to  defend  him- 
self as  far  as  possible,  and  at  all  events  to  establish 
his  innocence  5  for  the  honor  of  his  good  name, 
though  It  might  not  even  tend  to  save  him  from  the 
iujustice  with  which  he  was  threatened.  For  this 
purpose  he  accurately  examined  his  conduct  since 
his  liberation  from  the  Bastille,  and  noted  carefully 
every  circumstance,  that  he  might  be  enabled  to 
prove  the  nature  of  all  his  occnpations  so  correctly, 
that  the  impossibility  ofhisjoiniag  in  any  conspira- 
cy would  be  made  evident.  He  found,  however, 
that  to  do  this  effectually,  some  aid  besides  that  of 
mere  memory  would  be  necessary,  and  possessing 
no  other  means  of  committing  his  thoughts  to  wri- 
ting, he  had  recourse  to  the  expedient  of  pointing 
some  pieces  of  wood,  which  he  procured  from  the 
jailer,  and  then  by  charring  them  in  the  lamp,  he 
was  enabled  to  make  notes  upon  some  torn  linen, 
preparatory  to  his  trial.  Being  thus  occupied  the 
greater  part  of  the  night,  his  usual  time  of  rest  was 
from  day  break  to  midday ;  but  one  night,  a  few  days 
previous  to  the  time  appointed  for  his  trial,  he  was 
disturbed  in  his  occupation  by  the  dull  heavy  clang 
of  hammers  in  the  great  square  before  the  prison, 
and  proceeding  to  the  window,  he  endeavored  to 
ascertain  the  cause.  Through  fhe  bars  he  could 
perceive  various  lights,  and  people  moving  about  in 
different  directions,  but  could  not  discern  in  what 
they  were  employed  ;  and  quitting  the  casement,  he 
returned  to  the  slow  and  laborious  operation  of 
writing  his  notes,  In  the  manner  we  have  described. 
At  length,  wearied  out,  he  threw  himself  upon  his 
bed,  without  taking  off  his  clothes,  and  soon  fell  in- 
to a  profound  sleep,  which   remained  unbrokea  till 


RICHELIED  24g 

late  the  next  day.  It  is  probable  that  he  might  have 
slept  still  longer,  had  he  not  been  uroused  by  his 
tormentor,  Lafemas,  who,  standing  by  his  bedside, 
with  two  of  his  inferior  demons,  reused  him  out  of 
the  happy  forgetfulness  into  which  he  had  fallen. 
"Rise,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,rise  1"  said  the  judge, 
his  eyes  gleaming  with  malicious  pleasure  :  '■  rise, 
here  is  something  in  the  place  which  it  is  necessa- 
ry you  should  behold." 

De  Blenau  awoke  suddenly  from  his  sleep,  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  conducted  to  the  window,  where 
the  judge  and  his  two  followers  placed  themselves 
behind  him,  so  as  to  obstruct  his  retreat,  and  in  a 
manner  to  force  upon  him  the  sight  of  what  was 
passing  in  the  place. 

The  square  of  Terreaux  was  filled  with  an  im- 
mense multitude,  and  there  was  a  deep  awful  si- 
lence reigned  among  them.  All  eyes  were  turned 
towards  a  spot  exactly  opposite  the  window  at 
which  De  Blenau  stood,  where  there  appeared  a 
high  raised  scaffold,  covered  with  a  black  cloth, 
and  Furrounded  by  a  strong  body  of  troops,  who 
kept  the  multitude  at  a  distance,  without  impeding 
their  view  of  the  dreadful  scene  which  was  acting 
before  them.  A  large  log  of  timber  lay  across  the 
front  of  the  scaffold,  and  beside  it  stood  a  tall  braw- 
ny man,  leaning  on  an  immense  axe,  which  seem- 
ed as  if  a  gianfs  force  would  hardly  wield  it,  so 
ponderous  was  its  form.  The  Prevost  of  Lyons, 
dressed  in  black,  and  bearing  his  staff  of  office,  stood 
on  the  other  side  with  several  of  the  civil  officers 
of  the  city  3  and  a  file  of  pikemen  closed  each  flank 
erf  the  scaffold,  leaving  the  front  open,  as  we  have 
said,  to  the  view  of  the  spectators. 

But  it  was  the  form  of  his  unhappy  friend.  Cinq 
Mars,  that  first  rivetted  De  Blenau's  attentio'i  ; 
and  he  continued  to  gaze  upon  him  with  painful 
interest,  while,  standing  beside  the  block  on  which 
he  was  to  suffer,  he  calmly  unloosed  his  collar  and 
made  the  executioner  cut  away  the  glossy  curls  of 
his  hair,  which  otherwise,  falling  down  hia  neck, 


244  ftlOHELlElK 

n.ight  have  impeded  the  blow  of  the  axe.  When 
this  was  over  Cinq  Mars  rnised  the  instrunvent  of 
his  death,  and  running  his  finger  over  the  edge, 
seemed  to  ascertain  that  it  was  sharp  ;  and  then 
laying  it  down,  he  turned  to  the  good  De  TJiou, 
v.ho  stood  beside  him,  a  sharer  in  bis  punishment, 
though  not  a  sharer  in  his  fault.  Cinq  Mars  ap- 
peared to  entreat  his  pardon  icr  some  otfence  3  and 
it  is  probable  that  having  implicated  him  at  all  in 
the  conspiracy  was  the  only  circumstances  that 
then  v.eighed  upen  the  mind  of  the  grand  ecuyer. 
The  only" reply  of  De  Thou  was  a  warm  affection- 
ate embrace  ;  and  then  with  the  easy  digrity  of  a 
mind  at  rest,  Cinq  Mars  withdrew  himself  from  his 
arms,  and  knelt  down  before  the  block — De  Blenau 
turned  away  his  head. 

"'  You  had- better  observe,  Monsieur  de  Blenau," 
said  Lafemas,  "  the  fate  which  those  two  traitors 
undergo  ;  for  such  will  be  your  own,  if  yon  refuse 
the  hand  of  mercy  held  cut  to  you,  and  persist  in 
obstinate  silence. — Ah  ! — so  much  !"  continued  he, 
looking  from  the  window,  "  so  much  for  Monsieur 
de  Cinq  Mars  !  That  new  fellow  is  expert — he  has 
the  head  off  at  one  blow !" 

"  Wretch  !"  exclaimed  De  Blenau,  forcibly  pass- 
ing him,  and  proceeding  from  the  window,  '•  un- 
feeling wretch  I — Monsieur  Lafemas,"'  he  added, 
after  pausing  a  moment,  "you  were  perhaps  right 
in  supposing  that  this  torture  was  superior  to  any 
other  you  could  inflict.  But  I  have  once  more  to 
tell  you,  sir,  that  by  this  or  by  any  other  means  you 
will  wring  from  me  nothing  that  can  betray  my  in- 
nocence or  my  honor.'' 

'Then  die  as  you  deserve  !'"  replied  Lafemas  j 
and  after  once  more  looking  from  the  window,  and 
muttering  to  himself  a  few  words,  whose  import 
De  E'  aau  did  not  catch,  he  left  the  apartment  with 
his  two  followers.  De  Blenau  cast  himself  on  the 
bed,  and  hiding  his  face  in  tiie  clothes,  endeavored 
to  drive  from  his  memory  the  dreadful  scene  he  had 
just  beheld ;  but  it  still  continued  for  Biaoj  a  half- 


RICHELIEU.  245 

hour  to'  hover  before  his  eyes,  and  deprive  him  of 

all  rest  or  peace. 

The  hours  of  a  prison  are  always  elow,  and  they 
were  now  doubly  slow  to  De  Blenau,  having  no  oth- 
er pastime  than  painful  reflections,  and  anticipa- 
tions equally  bitter. 

At  length,  however,  the  day  of  his  trial  arrived, 
and  he  was  conveyed  in  a  carriage  to  Pierre-en- 
Scize,  where,  in  the  hall  of  audience,  sate  three  of 
the  devoted  creatures  of  Richelieu,  presiding  over 
a  body  equally  governed  by  themselves,  and  all 
prepared  to  pronounce  a  sentence  already  dictated 
by  the  minister.  Although  the  president  of  the 
parliament  of  Grenoble  nominally  directed  the  busi- 
ness of  the  court,  Lafemas  was  not  absent,  and  in 
his  eyes  De  Blenau  instantly  discerned  his  fate. 

The  charge  against  the  prisoner  was  read  by  one 
of  the  clerks,  declaring  him  to  stand  in  Manger  of 
high  treason,  in  having  conspired  with  the  Sieurs 
einq  Mars,  Fontrailles,  De  Thou,  and  others,  to 
bring  foreign  troops  into  France,  and  for  having 
treated  and  combined  with  a  power  at  open  war 
with  the  kingdom  for  various  treasonable  and  dip- 
loyal  purposes. 

The  evidence  brouglit  forward  to  establish  this  , 
was  as  frivolous  as  the  accusation  was  unfounded. 
Even  the  very  semblance  of  justice  was  nearly 
abandoned  ;  the  judges  seeming  to  go  through  the 
trial  as  a  useless  and  tiresome  ceremony,  which 
might  very  well  be  dispensed  with. 

It  was  proved,  indeed,  that  the  prisoner  had  of- 
ten been  seen  in  private  v/ith  the  unfortunate  Cinq 
Mars  5  and  it  was  also  given  in  evidence  by  a  ser- 
vant of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  that  he  had  carried  a 
letter  from  that  prince  to  De  Blenau  at  Moulins  ; 
and  that  iu  consequence  of  tliat  letter,  as  he  con- 
ceived, the  duke  had  gone,  with  a  great  air  of  se- 
crecy, to  a  particular  spot,  where  he  was  unaccus- 
tomed to  ride  upon  ordinary  occasions,  and  that  lie 
was  met  by  De  Blenau.  What  conversation  took 
place  between  them,  he  could  not  tell  5  but  after 
they  had  8e[>arated,  the  duke,  he  said,  gave  particu- 


246  RICHELIKfJ. 

lar  orders  that  their  meeting  should  be  mentioned 
to  no  man. 

The  next  witness  brought  forward  was  the  mes- 
senger who  carried  to  De  Blenau  the  king's  per- 
mission to  return  to  court,  and  who  proved  that, 
instead  of  linding  the  count  at  Moulins,  to  which, 
according  to  the  king's  command, ^he  was  bound 
to  confine  himself,  he  had  been  conducted  by  the 
count's  page  to  Troyes  in  Champagne,  where  he 
found  INlonsieurde  Blenau  himself  ready  to  set  off 
for  some  other  place.  This  witness  also  added, 
that  he  had  learned  in  the  town  of  Troyes,  that 
Monsieur  de  Blenau  had  been  absent  one  whole 
day,  during  which  time  he  had  visited  the  old  cattle 
of  Mesnil  St.  Loup,  and  that  at  his  return  he  did 
not  go  to  the  same  hotel  from  which  he  had  pro- 
ceeded in  the  morning. 

When  the  evidence  was  gone  through,  the  presi- 
dent cf  Grenoble  signified  to  the  prisoner  that  he 
might  speak  in  his  own  defence  5  and  though  well 
assured  that  on  his  judges  he  could  m.ake  no  im- 
pression, De  Blenau  resolved  not  to  allow  the  ac- 
cusation to  remain  unrepelled,  and  replied  at  some 
length  to  what  had  been  urged  against  him.  He 
showed  the  impossibility  of  preparing  any  defence, 
when  the  nature  of  the  charge  had  never  reached 
his  ears  till  that  day.  He  pointed  out  that,  though 
he  had  known  and 'loved  the  unhappy  Cinq  Mars, 
their  friendship  was  no  proof  that  he  was  at  all  ac- 
quainicd  with  the  conspiracy  for  which  the  other 
had  suffered  ;  and  that  though  he  had  met  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  and  received  a  letter  from  him, 
that  was  not  sufficient  to  show  him  concerned  in 
any  plot  against  the  state.  He  acknowledged  that 
he'  had  left  the  Bourbonnois  without  the  king's 
permission  ;  but  he  stated  the  powerful  motives 
which  had  induced  him  to  do  so,  and  gave  a  correct 
account,  from  the  notes  he  had  prepared,  of  every 
moment  of  his  time  since  he  had  been  liberated 
from  the  Bastille.  He  farther  declared  his  inno- 
cence :   he  proved  that  he  had  been  absent  from  all 


RICHELIEO,  247 

the  principal  scenes  of  the  conspiracy  ;  and  ended 
by  demanding  that  the  confession  of  the  Italian  Vil- 
la Grande  should  be  produced. 

The  president  of  Grenoble  turned  his  eyes  upon 
Lafemas  ;  but  that  worthy  judge  assumed  an  air  of 
perfect  unconsciousness,  and  demanded,  what  Ital- 
ian the  prisoner  meant  ? 

De  Blenau  now  clearly  and  distinctly  stated  ail 
he  knew  concerning  him,  and  again  demanded  that 
his  confession  should  be  brought  forward.  But  still 
Lafemas  appeared  in  doubt.  "  Monsieur  de  Ble- 
nau," said  he,  '"although  this  seems  to  me  but  a 
manoeuvre  to  gain  time,  I  have  no  objection  that 
the  papers  of  this  court  should  be  searched,  if  you 
can  give  us  the  baptismal  name  of  this  Italian,  of 
whom  at  present  we  know  nothing  ;  and  even  this 
is  a  mere  matter  of  grace  and  favor." 

De  Blenau  declared  his  incapacity  to  do  so,  but 
protested  against  the  unjust  proceedings  of  the 
court,  and  showed  that,  if  lime  and  opportunity  had 
been  allowed  for  preparing  his  defence,  he  would 
have  been  enabled,  by  appiic.ition  to  the  Count  de 
Chavigni,  to  bring  forward  the  paper  he  mentioned, 
and  to  prove  the  truth  of  every  thing  he  had  as- 
serted, by  the  evidence  of  persons  now  at  a  distance. 
He  v/as  still  speaking  when  Lafemas  rose  and  in- 
T.errupted  him.  "  Perceiving,"  said  the  judge,  with 
uiiblusliing  effrontery,  '"that  tlie  p  isoner  has  con- 
'  eluded  his  defence,  I  will  now  occupy  the  court  for 
a  few  moments,  in  order  to  explain  the  reasoning 
on  which  niv  own  opinion  is  Ibuuded,  although  I 
see  but  one  conclusion  to  wl)->h  any  one  can  come 
upon  the  merits  of  the  case  before  us.  It  has  been 
shown  that  the  prisoner  was  tlie  sworn — the  bosom 
friend  of  the  traitor  who  has  already  suffered  for 
his  crimes  ;  that  he  was  in  constant  communication 
with  almost  all  the  conspirators  ;  and  that  the  royal 
duke,  who  has  unfortunately  died  his  name  with  so 
black  a  spot,  at  the  very  same  time  that  he  was  en- 
gaged in  plotting  the  ruin  of  his  country,  was  in 
se;ret    correspondence   with  the   individual  before 


24S  RICHELIEU. 

us.  It  has  farther  been  proved,  that  the  prisoner, 
after  having  been  relcgue  in  Bourbon,  quilted  the 
place  to  which  he  was  bound  to  confiii':  lair.self, 
and  went,  upon  what  he  cannot  but  own  liimsclf  to 
be  a  wild  romantic  chase,  into  Champagne.  Tiiis 
part  of  his  story  is  a  very  strange  one,  according  to 
his  own  showing  ;  but  when  we  come  tocomi'.arc  it 
with  the  confession  of  the  traitor  Cinq  Mars,  the 
matter  becomes  more  clear.  It  was  in  the  old 
Castle  of  St.  Loup,  near  the  city  of  Troyes,  says 
the  confession,  that  the  principal  meeting  of  the 
conspirators  was  held  ;  and  it  was  to  this  v-try  Cas- 
iLe  of  St.  Loup  that  the  prisoner  directed  his  course 
from  Moulins.  Evidently  for  l))e  purpose  of  con- 
cealment also,  the  prisoner,  on  his  return  to  Troves, 
instead  of  directing  his  course  to  the  inn  where  he 
had  formerly  alighted,  proceeccd  '.o  another,  at 
which,  unfortunateiy  for  himself,  he  was  overtaken 
by  the  king's  messenger.  I  think  it  is  urnccessary 
to  say  more  upon  these  points.  To  my  mind  they 
are  convincing.  It  is  trnie,  indeed.  Monsieur  de 
Bleneriu  has  shrewdly  kept  his  handwriting  frsmi  any 
paper  which  could  prove  him  an  acti-. e  member  of 
this  conspiracy.  But  what  man  in  his  senses  can 
doubt  that  he  was  criminally  aware  of  iis  existence  ? 
This,  then,  is  his  crime  :  and  I  pronounce  the  con- 
cealment of  treason  to  be  as  great  a  crime  as  treas- 
on itself..  But  if  there  were  wanting  a  care  in 
point  to  prove  tliat  the  law  considers  it  as  such,  I 
would  cite  tlie  condemnation  of  De  Thou,  v.  ho,  but, 
two  days  ago,  suffered  wiilj  the  traitor,  Cinq  iMars. 
Let  us  now,  my  bretiiren,  he  added, retire  to  consid- 
er of  our  sentence;  for  I  have  only  spoken  thus 
much,  not  to  bias  your  opinion,  but  simply  that  the 
prisoner  himself,  before  he  leaves  the  court,  may 
know,  at  least,  my  sentiments." 

The  judges  now  withdrew  to  the  cabinet  appoint- 
ed for  their  deliberations,  and  De  Bienau  was  remov- 
ed from  the  court  to  a  smail  apartment  hard  by.  He 
had  not  been  here  a  moment  when  his  page,  Henri  de 
La  Mothel^burst  into  the  room.     "  ?.fy  dear,   dear. 


UIGHELiEV.  249 

maater  !"  exclaimed  the  boy,  throwing  himself  at 
his  feet,  "  they  tell  me  that  you  certainly  will 
not  be  condemned,  for  that  you  have  not  been  ta- 
ken to  what  is  called  the  dead  man^s  dwelling: 
so  the  sentinel  let  me  in  to  see  you." 

"  Henry  1  how  came  you  hither  !"  exclaimed 
De  Blenau,  hurriedly — "  But  we  have  no  time  to 
think  of  that — My  fate  is  sealed — 1  have  read  it  in 
the  triumphant  glance  of  that  demon,  Lafemas. 
Mark  me, my  boy,and  if  ever  you  loved  me.obeyme 
well.  When  1  am  dead — do  you  hear  ?— When  I 
am  dead,  near  my  heart  you  will  find  a  portrait. 
Take  it,  with  this  ring,  to  Mademoiselle  de  Beau- 
mont. Tell  her,  that  the  one  was  the  likeness  of 
all  I  loved  on  earth  ;  and  the  other,  the  ring  that 
was  to  have  bound  her  to  me  forever.  Say  that  De 
Blenau  sends  them  to  her  in  death,  and  that  his  last 
thought  was  of  Pauline  de  Beaumont." 

"  Alas  .'  Mademoiselle  de  Beaumont !"  said  the 
page.  But  as  he  spoke,  the  door  opened  and  aa 
officer  of  the  court  entered,  followed  by  a  priest. 
"  Begone,  boy  !"  said  the  officer,  leading  Henry  to 
the  door.  ''  How  came  you  in  here  ?  We  have 
more  serious  matter  in  hand  now." 

"  Remember!"  said  De  Blenau,  holding  up  his 
hand  impressively,  "  remember !"  And  Henry, 
bursting  into  tears,  was  hurried  from  the  apartment. 
"  Now,  father,-continued  De  Blenau,  turning  to  the 
priest,  "  let  us  to  your  business." 

"  It  is  a  sad  one,  my  son,"  he  replied ;  "  it  is  but 
to  tell  you,  that  you  must  prepare  to  leave  a  world 
of  sorrow  !" 

''God's  will  be  done  !"  said  De  Blenau. 


roL.  II.       17 


250  RICHELIEJJ- 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Which,  if  the   Reader  can    get  through  it,  will    bring  him  to 
the  Eud  of  the  Histoiy. 

All  delay  in  the  execution  of  a  sentence  where 
there  exists  no  hope  of  mercy,  is  but  needless  cru- 
elty 5  yet  De  Blenau  was  suffered  to  linger  four- 
teen weary  nights  and  days  between  the  day  of  Ids 
condemnation  and  "that  appointed  for  his  deatl  .  !t 
approached,  however,  at  length.  We  are  told,  by 
those  who  have  had  the  best  opportunities  of  judg- 
ing, that  the  last  night  of  a  condemned  prisoner's 
existe;ice  is  generally  passed  in  s!umt  er.  It  was  so 
with  "pe  Blenau.  Hope  and  fear  were  equally 
things  gone  by  to  him.  The  bitter  sentence  of 
death  had  runcr  in  hi?:  ear,  He  had  traced  the  last 
lines  of  aliectin;!  to  hex  he  loved.  He  had  paid  the 
last  duties  of  religion  :  and  fatigued  with  the  strong 
excitement  which  his  mind  had  undergone,  he  threw 
himself  on  his  couch,  and  fell  into  that  profound 
sleep  which  only  despair  can  give,  and  which  ap- 
proaches near  to  annihilation. 

He  was  yet  buried  in  forgetful nc?s  when  the  jail- 
er came  to  announce  that  tlse  fatal  hour  was  come, 
ajid  for  a  moment,  even  after  his  spirit  had  resum- 
ed her  powers,  memory  still  wandered  far  from  the 
realitv.  He  had  not  dreamed,  but  ail  thought  of 
the  last  fevy  months  had  been  obliterated,  and  re- 
mf^m^rance,  escaping  from  the  painful  present,  lin- 
gcr<,d  fondly  over  all  he  had  left  behind. 

It  lasted  jiot  long,  and  as  all  the  truth  came  rush- 
ing on  his  mind,  he  thought  ahino  of  his  approach- 
ing faie,  ana  to  meet  it  as  became  Inm.  His  heirt, 
indeed,  was  sick  of  all  the  instability  of  ihis  worl  I's 
things,  aiid  for  an  instant  there  was'a  feeling  almost 
atnouiiting  to  satisfactiou,  when  he  thought  that  the 
eieruul  balancing  between  hope  and  fear,  between 
joy  and  disappointment,  was  soon  to  be  over,  and 


RICHELIEU.  251 

that  his  soul,  wearied  of  change  and  doubt,  would 
quickly  have  peace  and  certainty.  But  then  again 
the  lingering  tiesof  earth,  the  fond  warm  fellow- 
ships of  human  existence  came  strongly  upon  him, 
with  all  the  throng  of  kindly  sympathies  that  bind 
us  to  this  world,  and  made  him  shrink  from  the 
thought  of  breaking  them  all  at  once. 

This  also  lasted  but  a  moment — his  fate  was  seal- 
ed, and  hurrying  oyer  all  that  might  in  any  degree 
undermine  his  fortitude,  he  followed  into  the  court- 
yard, where  the  Prevost  of  Lyons  and  several  of  the 
authorities  of  the  town,  with  a  file  of  soldiers, 
waited  his  coming. 

The  distance  was  so  short  from  the  place  of  his 
confinement  to  the  scaffold  where  he  had  beheld  for 
the  last  time  his  unhappy  friend  Cinq  Mars,  that  the 
use  of  a  carriage  was  dispensed  with  ;  and  the 
guard  having  formed  an  avenue  through  the  prowd, 
the  gates  were  thrown  open  to  give  him  exit  for 
the  last  time. 

"  Monsieur  de  Blenau,  will  you  take  my  arm," 
said  the  Prevost  of  Lyons  :  *•  mine  is  a  sad  office, 
sir,  but  the  arm  is  not  an  unfriendly  one." 

De  Blenau,  however,  declined  it  with  thanks, 
saying  that  he  needed  no  support,  and  with  a  priest 
on  one  hand  and  the  prevost  on  the  other,  he  pro- 
ceeded calmly  towards  the  scaffold,  and  ascended 
the  steps  with  a  firm  unshaken  footstep.  The  block, 
and  the  axe,  and  the  masked  executioner  were  noth- 
ing in  De  Blenau's  eyes  but''the  mere  weak  precur- 
sors of  the  ene  awful  event  on  which  all  his  thoughts 
were  bent,  and  for  which  his  mind  was  now  fully 
prepared.  There  was  but  one  thought  which  could 
at  all  shake  his  fortitude — there  was  but  one  tie  to 
be  broken  which  wrung  his  heart  to  break.  He 
thought  of  Pauline  de  Beaumont — but  he  thought 
also  that  he  had  merited  a  better  fate  ;  and  proudly 
spurning  the  weakness  that  strove  to  grow  upon 
his  heart,  he  resolved  to  die  as  he  had  lived,  wor- 
thy of  he?  he  loved.  The  very  feeling  gave  new 
dignity  to  his  air,  and  he  stood  erect  and  firm  while 


252.  aicHEircu. 

the  sordiers  were  disposed   about  the  scaffold,  wad 
his  sentence  was  read  aloud  by  the  prevost. 

A  great  multitude  surrounded  the  place,  and  fix- 
ed their  eyes  upon  the  victim  of  arbitrary  power,  as 
he  stood  calm  and  unmoved  before  them,  in  the 
spring  of  youth  and  the  dignity  of  conscious  inno- 
cence. There  were  few  who  hr.d  not  heard  of  the 
Count  de  Blenau,  and  all  that  they  had  heard  was 
good.  The  heart  of  man  too,  however  fallen,  has 
still  on&spot  reserved  for  the  dwelling  of  compas- 
sion, and  its  very  weakness  makes  it  soften  to  virtue 
in  distress,  and  often  even  to  forget  faults  in  mis- 
fortunes. However  that  may  be,  there  was  a  glis- 
tening in  the  eyes  of  many  as  they  turned  their 
looks  tov.'ards  De  Blenau,  who,  according  to  the 
universal  custom  of  the  time,  advanced  to  the  front 
of  the  scaffold  to  address  them.  "  Good  friends,^" 
said  he,,  '■  it  is  the  will  of  Heaven  that  here  1  should 
give  back  the  spirit  which  has  been  lent  me ;  and 
so  help  me  that  God  into  whose  bright  presence  I 
now  go,  as  I  am  innocent  of  any  crime  towards 
my  king  and  country  !''  A  murmur  ran  among  the 
people.  "  This  is  my  last  asseveration,  he  continu- 
ed >"  and  my  last  counsel  to  you  is,  to  keep  your 
hearts  clear  and  guiltless,  so  that  if  misfortune 
should  follow  any  one  as  it  has  followed  me,  he  may 
be  able  to  lay  his  head  upon  the  block  as  fearless- 
ly as  1  do  now."  And  retiring  a  step,  he  unloosed 
his  collar,  and  knelt  for  the  stroke  of  the  execution- 
er. 

"  A  horse  !  A  horse  !  A  council  messenger  ! 
Pardon  for  the  count !  Pardon  for  the  count  !" 
cried  a  thousand  voices  from  the  crowd.  De  Ble- 
nau looked  up.  Headlong  down  the  long  narrow 
street  that  then  led  in  a  straight  line  from  the 
square,  his  horse  in  foam,  his  hat  left  far  behind, 
and  his  long  gray  hair  flying  in  the  wind,  spurring 
as  if  for  life,  came  a  horseman,  who  ever  and  anon 
held  up  a  packet  in  his  hand,  and  vociferated  some- 
thing that  was  lost  in  the  distance.  He  wore  the 
dress  of  a  lieutenant  of  the  king's  forests,  and  dash- 


'rich^:li£u.  ^     25S 

ipg  Tike  lightning  through  the  crowd,  that  Yeeled 
buck  on  every  Bide  as  he  approached,  he  paused 
not  till  he  reached  the  foot  ot  the  scaffold, — threw 
himself  Crom  his  horse — passed  unopposed  through 
the  guards,  rushed  up  the^steps,  and  Philip  the 
Woodman  of  Mantes  cast  himself  at  De  Blenau's 
feet.  "  My  noble,  noble  lord  !•■'  exclaimed  the 
woodman.  It  was  all  that  he  could  utter,  for  his 
breath  was  gone  with  the  rapidity  of  his  progress. 

"  What  is  all  this  ?"  cried  the  Prevost  of  Lyons, 
coming  forward.  "  And  why  do  you  stop  the  exe- 
cution of  the  prisoner,  Sir  Lieutenant  [  What  is 
all  this  ?'•— 

Philip  started  on  his  feet,  "What  is  it  1'"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  why,  that  none  of  you  blood-sucking 
wolves  dare  put  a  fang  to  the  count's  throat:  that's 
■what  it  is!  There  is  his  pardon,  with  the  king's 
own  signature  ;  ay,  and  the  cardinars  to  boot  !  At 
least,  so  Monsieur  de  Chavigni  tells  me  ;  for  being 
no  great  clerk,  I  have  not  read  it  myself." 

The  prevost  unfolded  the  paper  and  read,  "  '  Aic- 
jourd''hui,'  &Z.C. — Ah!  yes,  all  in  form. — ^The  king 
having  learned  that  the  crimes  of  the  Sieur  Claude 
de  Bleniiu,  Count  de  Blenau,  and  Seigneur  de 
Blancford,  are  not  so  heavy  as  at  first  appeared,  and 
having  investiguled — &c.  has  ordained  and  does  or- 
dain— out  of  his  great  grace,  (Sec. — that  the  sentence 
of  death  be  changed  and  commuted  to  perpetual 
banishment,  ^c. — And  if  after  sixteen  days  from  the 
dale  hereof,  he  be  found  within  the  kingdoms  of 
France  and  Kavarre,'  ^'C. — You  understand,  Mon- 
eieur  le  Comte. — VVell,  sir,  1  congratulate  you. 
Here  is  the  king's  name  ;  'Louis,'  et  phis  bets, 
'  Richelieu' — Will  you  come  and  takesome  refresh- 
ment at  my  poor  lodgings  V 

De  Blenau  was  glad  to  accept  the  invitation,  for 
his  mind  was  too  much  confused  to  fix  upon  any 
plan  of  action  at  the  moment.  His  resolution  had 
borne  him  strongly  up  at  the  time  when  all  hope 
seemed  lost  ;  but  now  the  sudden  change  overpow- 
erp(l  him  ;  and  amid  the  acclamations  of  ihfi  multi- 


254  RIClfELIEU. 

tude,  he  suffered  himself  to  be  conducted  in  silence 
to  the  house  of  the  prevost  5  where  he  was  soon 
after  discovered  by  his  page,  Henri  de  La  Mothe. 

We  shall  now  pass  quickly  over  the  means  which 
he  took  to  procure  mopey  for  the  expenses  of  the 
journey  before  him,  merely  saying  thai,  through  the 
kindness  of  the  prevost,  he  was  soon  furnished  with 
the  necessary  funds  for  proceeding  ;  and  according- 
ly set  out  from  Lyons  the  second  morning  after 
that,  the  events  of  which  v:e  have  described.  Two 
powerful  reasons  induced  De  Blenau  to  turn  his 
steps  towards  Spa^n  .  in  the  first  place,  it  was  much 
near«r  than  either  Germany  or  Flanders,  which 
were  the  only  other  countries  where  he  could  hope 
for  perfect  security  ;  and,  in  the  next  place,  his  road 
to  the  frontier  passed  not  only  close  to  his  own 
estates,  but  skirted  the  property  of  Madame  de 
Beaumont,  and  he  was  not  without  hopes  of  meet- 
ing there  some  that  were  the  dearest  to  him  of  the 
earth ;  for  he  learned  from  Henri  de  La  Mothe, 
that  the  vengeance  of  the  implacable  R.ichelieu  had 
extended  to  Pauline  and  her  mother,  who  had  been 
ordered  once  more  to  quit  the  court  of  France,  as  a 
punishment  for  having  conveyed  information  to  him 
in  the  Bastille .3 

Philip  the  woodman  was  not  f  rgotten  in  De 
Blenau's  new  arrangements  j  and  under  the  pre- 
tence of  cnarging  him  with  a  letter  back  to  St. 
Germain's  in  case  Madame  de  Beaumont  should 
not  tbe  in  Languedoc,  the  young  count  seduced 
him  into  a  promise  of  accompanying  him  to  Argent- 
iere.  His  real  motive,  however,  was,  to  recom- 
pecne  the  woodman's  services,  on  arriving  at  his 
own  property,  in  a  manner  which  the  scanty  state 
of  his  finances  prevented  him  from  doing  at  Ly- 
ons. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  joy  he  felt  at  his  deliv- 
erance, there  was  a  heaviness  hung  over  De  Blenau 
as  he  rode  out  of  Lyons,  ^which  he  could  not  ac- 
count for,  and  a  sensation  of  tatigue.which  hejhad 
never  felt  before.     To  shorten  the,  road,  he  beckcm- 


moHELIEC.  265 

ed  to  the  woodman,  who,  with  Henri  de  La  Mothe, 
had  dropped  a  little  behind,  and  made  him  relate 
the  circumstances  which  led  to  his  being  despatch- 
ed with  the  king's  pardon  to  Lyons.  Philip's  story, 
which  occupied  a  long  while  in  telling,  may  be 
considerably  shortened  without  disadvantage. 

It  must  be  remembered,  that  at  the  time  of  De 
Blenau's  liberation  from  the  Bastille,-  Chavigni  had 

Kromised,  as  some  compensation  for  all  that  Philip 
ad  suffered  by  his  means,  to  have  him  appointed 
sous-lieutenant  of  the  forest  of  Mantes :  and  he 
kept  his  word. 

Philip  was  placed  in  the  office,  and  exercised  its 
functions,  but  the  actual  brevet  containing  hie  offi- 
cial appointment  had  been  delayed  by  a  multitude 
of  other  affairs  pressing  for  attention,  till  the  states- 
man's return  from  Narbonne.  At  length,  Philip 
heard  that  Chavigni  had  returned,  and  that  the  king, 
with  all  the  ministers,  were  once  more  at  St.  Ger- 
main's ;  and  he  ventured  to  v/ait  upon  his  patron, 
as  he  had  been  desired,  to  remind  him  of  expedit- 
ing the  brevet.  There  were  several  persons  wait- 
ing, and  in  his  turn  he  was  shown  into  the  states- 
toan's  cabinet. 

Chavigni  had  .forgotten  his  face,  and  asked  the 
simple  question,  "  Who  are  you?" 

Such  simple  questions,  however,  often  produce 
more  important  consequences.  "  I  am  the  wood- 
man," replied  Philip,  "  who  was  in  prison  with  the 
CoiiAt  de  Blenau." 

"The  Count  de  Blenau  !"  exclaimed  Chavigni, 
while  an  expression  of  horror  passed  over  his  coun- 
tenance. "  By  all  the  saints,  I  had  forgot !  Yet 
let  me  see,  to-day  is  VVednesday-^there  is  yet  time 
—stay  here  a  moment  I"  and  he  rushed  out  of  the 
room,  leaving  the  astonished  woodman  not  knowing 
at  all  what  he  meant.  In  about  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  the  statesman  returned,  breathless  with  the 
expedition  he  had  used — "There'"  he  exclaimed, 
putting  a  paper  into  Philip's  hand — "There  is  his 
pardouj  signed  by  both  the  king  and  the   cardinal  ! 


2§e  .RICHELIEU. 

—Away  !— take  the  swiftest  horse  in  my  stables- 
lose  not  a  moment,  or  you  will  be  loo  late  !  Use 
the  king's  name  for  fresh  horses,  and  show  that  sig- 
nature.— Tell  the  count,  Chavigni  has  kept  hiB 
word." 

*'  And  where  am  1  to  go  ?•'  demanded  Philip, 
quietly,  still  completely  ignorant  of  the  cause  of 
Chavigni's  agitation. 

"  To  Lyons,  to  Lyons !  you  fool  !"  cried  Chavig- 
ni, "  If  you  use  not  all  speed,  the  count's  head 
will  be  off  before  you  arrive  with  his  paidon." 

"The  Count  de  Blenau  ?" demanded  Philip. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  tell  you  !■'  reiterated  the  statesman. 
"  Your  good  old  friend,  the  Count  de  Blenau  !  So 
lose  no  time,  if  you  would  save  his  life." 

Philip  lost  no  time,  and  arrived  at  Lyons,  as  we 
have  seen,  just  at  the  critical  moment  of  De  Ble- 
nau'a  fate. 

Though  Philip's  narrative  served  to  interest  De 
Blenau,  and  the  chattering  of  Henri  de  La  Motbe 
to  amuse  him  on  the  way,  nevertheless  he  could  not 
conceal  from  himself  that  there  was  a  lassitude 
gradually  growing  upon  him,  which  seemed  to  an- 
nounce the  approach  of  some  serious  sickness. 
Naturally  of  a  strong  constitution,  and  an  ardent 
temperament,  he  never  yielded  to  indisposition  till 
unable  to  sustain  it  any  longer  5  and  though  fatigue, 
anxiety,  and  distress,  bad  weakened  him  much, 
and  his  two  attendants  often  hinted  that  he  looked 
unwell,  and  required  repose,  De  Blenau  would  not 
acknowledge  that  he  was  ill  until  he  arrived  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Tournon.  There,  however,  tho 
powers  of  nature  failed  him,  and  he  felt  that  he 
could  proceed  no  farther.  Scarcely  able  to  sit  on  his 
horse,  he  entered  the  town,  and  looked  eagerly 
about  for  some  place  whore  he  couM  repose,  when 
suddenly  the  eyes  of  Henri  de  La  Mothe  rested  up- 
on the  well-known  sign  of  the  SangUer  Gour 
mand,  which,  as,  they  afterward  found,  was  still  kepi 
by  no  other  person  than  the  celebrated  Jacques 
Chatpilleur,  who  had  at  last  been  driven  from  th» 


RICHELIES.  257 

neighborhood  of  the  Bastille  by  the  wrathful  gov- 
ernor, for  one  of  his  drunken  achievements,  very 
similar  to  the  one  recounted  in  a  preceding  chap- 
ter, and  had  taken  refuge  in  his  native  place,  Tour- 
non.  Here  De  Blenau  alighted,  and  was  conveyed 
to  a  bed-chamber,  where  he  was  soon  attacked  by 
a  violent  fever,  which  rapidly  increased.  Delirium 
followed;  and  he  quickly  lost  jjl  remembrance  of 
surrounding  objects,  though  the  name  of  Pauline  de 
Beaumont  would  often  tremble  on  his  tongue,  and 
he  fancied  that  he  saw  a  thousand  airy  shapes  hov- 
ering round  his  bed,  and  constantly  reminding  him 
of  her  he  loved. 

In  about  twenty  days  the  disease  had  run  its 
course  and  passed  away,  leaving  him  in  a  state  of 
excessive  weakness  :  but,  in  the  mean  time,  the  fe- 
ver, which  had  nearly  destroyed  De  Blenau,  had 
e;ntirely  ruined  the  unhappy  Jacques  Chatpilleur. 
The  report  spread  through  Tournon,  that  the  auber- 
giste  had  a  milignant  sickness  raging  in  his  house  ; 
and  instead  of  coming  thither,  as  usual,  for  the  good 
things  of  this  life,  the  citizens  not  only  passed  his 
door  without  entering,  but  even  crossed  over  the 
way,  as  they  went  through  the  street,  to  be  far  as 
possible  frora  the- infected  air.  For  some  days  af- 
ter he  discovered  this  defection,  melancholy  preyed 
upon  the  unhappy  aiibergiste  ;  but  suddenly  he  seem- 
ed to  have  taken  a  bold  resolution,  pulled  down  his 
sign,  put  by  his  pots  and  pans,  resumed  his  gayety. 
and  no  sooner  did  De  Blenau  talk  of  once  more 
proceeding,  than  Jacques  Chatpillieur  laid  before 
him  his  sad  condition,  and  prayed,  as  an  act  of  jus 
tice,  that  he  would  take  him  with  him  into  Spain, 
and  suflFer  him  to  be  his  lordship's  cook. 

De  Blenau  had  not  the  heart  to  deny  him  3  but 
another  thing  came  now  to  be  considered.  The 
time  which,  according  to  the  ordinance  of  the  king, 
had  been  allowed  him  for  the  purpose  of  quitting 
the  realm,  had  long  expired,  and  he  was  now  virtu- 
ally an  outlaw.  Every  one  was  called  upon  to  de- 
liver him  up  as   an  exile   returned   without  grace,. 


258  Richelieu. 

and  by  law  his  blood  could  be  req^uired  at  the  ham.' 
of  no  one  who  shed  it.  These  circumstances, 
though  not  very  agreeable  in  themselves,  would  have 

fiven  De  Blenau  but  little  concern,  had  not  the 
udge  Lafemas  been  still  in  his  immediate  neigh- 
borhood. Bui  from  his  vindictive  spirit  he  had 
every  thing  to  fear  if  discovered  within  the  pre- 
cincts of  France  after  the  allotted  time  had  expired  ; 
an.':  consequence  he  determined  to  travel  by 
' 'ti  <■  ...  ..  as  his  strength  was  sufficiently  restor- 
ed, and  to  effect  his  escape  into  Spain  with  as  little 
delay  as  possible. 

Jacques  Chatpilleur  applied  himself  with  all  the 
vigor  of  an  ancien  vivandier  to  re-establish  his  new 
lord  in  his  former  robust  health,  and  succeeded  so 
well  as  to  leave  but  little  traces  of  all  that  fever  and 
anxiety  had  done  upon  his  frame.  In  the  mean 
time,  Henri  de  LaMothe  took  care  to  prepare  se- 
cretly every  thing  for  their  departure  ;  a:nd  Philip 
the  woodman,  who  had  [^somewhat  balanced  be- 
tween a  wish  to  return  to  his  family  and  love  for 
the  good  young  count,  determined  to  follow  him  to 
the  frontier,  as  soon  as  he  heard  that  his  life  was  at 
the  mercy  of  any  one  who  chose  to  take  it. 

Under  these  circumstances,  one  clear  autumn 
night,  towards  twelve  o'clock,  De  Blenau  sallied 
forth  from  the  little  town  of  Tournon,  accompani- 
ed by  the  somewhat  curious  escort  of  the  mnkeep- 
er,  the  woodman,  and  the  page,  and  proceeding 
silently  and  cautiously,  arrived  safely  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  La  Vaulte,  where,  betaking  themselves 
to  one  of  the  large  open  fields  of  the  country,  the 
party  reposed  themselves  under  the  mulberry-trees,^ 
which  by  this  time  had  been  long  stripped  both  of 
their  green  leaves  and  their  silken  balls,  but  which 
still  offered  some  degree  of  concealment,  and  some- 
thing to  which  they  could  aitach  their  horses. 

At  noon  Jacques  Chatpilleur,  as  the  most  expert, 
was  despatched  fo  the  town  for  some  provisions, 
which  commission  he  executed  with  great  zeal  and 
discretion,  and  returning,  informed  De  Blenau  that 


RiCHELretJ  259 

he  had  seen  a  gentleman  in  black  pass  through  the 
town,  accompanied  by  a  considerable  train  habited 
in  the  same  sad  cclor. 

As  De  Blenau  conjectured  that  this  might  Be 
Lafemas,  it  was  determined  t©  take  additional  pre- 
cautions, and  rather  to  live  upon  scanty  fare  than 
send  into  any  town  again  ;  and  setting  off  as  soon  as 
it  was  dark,  they  passed  by  Privas,  and  reached  the 
skirts  of  llic  thick  wood  that  began  about  •  >t  .as, 
and  sweeping  round  La  Gorce  extei.u'  a?  ^U  sz.--- 
Viviers  on  the  one  side,  and  to  L'Argentiere  on  the 
other.  Near  to  Viviers  lay  the  estates  of  the  Mar- 
chioness de  Beaumont,  and  within  a  league  of  Ar- 
gentiere  was  the  Chateau  de  Blenau  ;  but  it  was 
towards  the  former  that  De  Blenau  bent  his  steps 
as  soon  as  the  second  night  had  come.  Before  they 
had  gone  far,  it  began  to  rain  hard,  and  though  the 
wood  afforded  some  covering,  yet  the  lateness  of 
the  season  had  stripped  it  of  all  that  could  yield  any 
efficient  shelter,  except  at  a  spo*  where  two  ever- 
green oaks,  growing  together  like  twin-brothers, 
spread  their  still  verdant  branches  over  a  considera- 
ble space  of  ground.  De  Blenau  was  inclined  to 
proceed  as  quickly  as  possible  ;  but  Jacques  Chat- 
pillieur,  who  now  acted  as  body  physician  as  well 
as  cook,  so  strongly  cautioned  his  lord  to  avoid  the 
wet,  that  the  whole  party  betook  themselves  to  the 
shelter  of  the  oaks,  in  hopes  of  the  rain  passing 
away. 

Before  them  lay  a  considerable  tract  of  road,upon 
which,  after  about  half  an  hour  of  heavy  rain,  the 
moon  began  to  shine  once  more  ;  and  De  Blenau 
was  about  to  proceed,  when  the  sound  of  horses 
was  heard  upon  the  very  path  which  they  had  just 
passed.  De  Blenau  and  his  party  drew  back  as  qui- 
etly as  possible  behind  the  trees,  and  though  the 
hores' feet  still  made  some  noise,  the  water  droj)- 
ping  from  the  branches  of  the  forest  was  enough  to 
cover  the  sound.  Scarcely,  however,  were  they 
themselves  concealed,  when  a  horseman  appeared 
upon  the  road  in  a  sombre  colored    suit,   n  ith  some 


260  RKT.ELIEU. 

one  riding  on  his  right-hand,  whom  De  Blenau  judg- 
ed to  be  an  inferior,  from  the  bending  position  in 
which  he  listened  to  what  the  other  said.  Six  ser- 
vants followed  at  a  little  distance,  and  a  straggler 
brought  up  the  rear,  wringing  the  wet  from  the 
skirts  of  his  doublet.  One  by  o"ne  they  passed  slow- 
ly by;  the  uncertain  light  showing  them  to  be  well 
armed  and  mounted,  but  still  not  shining  sufficiently 
to  allow  De  Blenau  the  opportunity  of  considering 
their  features,  though  he  thought  tie  first  rider  was 
in  some  degree  familiar  to  hinT.  It  was  not  unlike 
that  of  Lafemas,  yet,  as  far  as  he  could  judge,  taller 
and  more  erect.  The  cavalcade  passed  on, and  were 
seen  winding  down  the  road  in  the  moonlight,  till 
they  came  opposite  to  a  spot  'vhere  some  felled  tim- 
ber and  blocks  of  stone  embarrassed  the  ground. 
Immediately  that  they  arrived  there  there  was  a 
bright  flash,  the  report  of  a  carbine,  and  one  of  the 
horses  fell  suddenly  to  the  ground.  In  a  moment, 
nine  or  ten  horsem.en.and  two  or  three  on  footjush- 
ed  forth  from  the  v.ood  ;  and  the  clashing  of  steel, 
the  report  of  pistols,  and  various  cries  of -wrath  or 
agony  came  sweeping  upon  the  gale. 

•'■  Were  it  Lafemas  himself,"'  cried  De  Blenau, 
'•'  this  must  not  be  !  En  avant  pour  la  France  I" 
and  dashing  his  rowels  into  the  horse's  side,  he  gal- 
loped headlong  down  the  road,  followed  by  the 
woodman,  the  page,  and  the  redoubtable  Jacques 
Chatpilleur. 

Two  moments  brought  them  to  the  scene  of  the 
combat,  and  the  moon  shining  out  seemed  express- 
ly to  light  the  fray.  The  one  party  was  evidently 
to  be  distinguished  by  their  black  habits,  the  (other 
by  their  rusty  cuirasses  and  morions.  Directly  in 
the  way  of  De  Blenau  was  the  cavalier  he  had  nark- 
ed, as  he  passed,  contending  with  .1  man  of  almost 
gigantic  strength  i  but  notv,  iihstanding  ihe  .superior 
force  of  the  latter,  his  antagonist  still  foiled  him  by 
his  skilful  defence,  when  suddenly  one  of  the  rob- 
bers on  foot  attacked  the  cavalier  also  behind.  Thus 
beset,  he  turned  to  strike  him  down,  when  the  tre- 


RIOHELIEIT.  261 

niendous  Norman  (for  it  was  no  other)  caught  his 
bridle  rein,  and  urging  the  horse  back,  threw  him 
to  the  ground.  The  robber  on  foot  shortened  the 
pike  he  carried  to  plunge  it  in  his  body.  But  by  this 
time  De  Blenau's  party  had  come  upj  and  the  coura- 
geous auberglsie  galloping  on,  bore  the  point  of  his 
long  sword  in  a  direct  line  forward,  which  catching 
the  pikeman  just  below  the  cuirass,  spitted  him,  to 
use  Jacques  Chatpilleur's  awn  expression,  just  like 
a  widgeon. 

In  the  mean  while,  the  Norman  had  turned  upon 
De  Blenau,  and  snapped  a  pistol  at  his  head,  which, 
Irowever,  missed  fire.  Enraged  at  his  disappoint- 
ment, he  threw  the  weapon  from  him,  and  spurring 
on  his  horse,aimed  a  tremendous  blow  at  the  couct 
which  was  instantly  parried,  and  returned  by  a 
straightforward  lunge  that  cut  him  above  the  eye, 
and  deluged  his  face  in  blood.  INIad  with  the  pain, 
and  half-blinded  with  the  gore,Marteville  attempted 
once  more  the  feat  by  which  he  had  overthrown 
his  former  antagonist ;  and,  catching  Be  Blenau's 
rein,  urged  his  horseback  with  Herculean  strength. 
In  vain  the  count  spurred  him  forward  3  he  sank  up- 
on his  haunches,  and  was  floundering  in  the  fall, 
when  De  Blenau,  finding  it  inevitable,  let  go  the 
rein,  fixed  his  knees  firm  in  the  saddle,  and  raising 
his  sword  with  both  hands,  discharged  it  wilh  all  his 
force  upon  the  head  of  the  Norman.  The  true  steel 
passed  clear  on,  hewed  through  the  iron  morion, 
cleft  through  hair  and  scull,  and  sank  deep  into  his 
brain.  He  reeled  in  the  saddle  5  his  hands  let  go 
their  grasp,  and  he  fell  headlong  to  tlie  ground, while 
the  horse  of  de  Bienau,  suddenly  released  from  the 
pressure,  rose  up,  and  plunging  foward,  trod  him  un- 
der its  feet.  De  Blenau  lost  not  his  presence  of  mind 
fo-  a  moment,  and  while  his  horse  was  yet  in  the 
spring,  he  aimed  a  blow  at  the  Gros  St.  Nicolas, 
who  had  been  hurrying  to  the  assistance  of  his  cap- 
tain, which  disabled  his  shoulder,  and  threw  him 
from  his  horse.     "  Saicve  qui  pent ."'  cried   the  rob- 


262  RiCIlKLlEU. 

ber,  starting  up  on  his  feet,and  running  for  the  wood, 
"  Sauve  qui  pent !    The  captain  is  dead  '.'' 

'•'  Sauve  qui  peut!  Smtve  qui  pexd  !'  rang  among 
the  robbers,  and  in  a  few  minutes  De  Blenau  and 
his  parly  were  left  masters  of  the  field.  The  count 
drew  up  his  horse,  exclaiming  "  Do  not  follow  !  Do 
not  follow  !  Let  us  look  to  the  wounded  ;"  and  dis- 
mounting, he  hurried  to  assist  the  fallen  cavalier, 
who  was  struggling  to  disengage  himself  from  his 
horse. 

'•  Next  to  God,  sir,  1  have  to  thank  you/'  said  the 
stranger,  as  soon  as  he  had  risen.  "  But — is  it  pos- 
sible !  Monsieur  de  Blenau  I"  he  ex.claimed  as  the 
moonlight  gleamed  on  the  countenance  of  the 
count.  '' God  of  heaven,!  thought  you  were  in 
Spain  long  ago ;"' 

•'  Monsieur  de  Chavigni .'  or  I  am  mistaken,"  said 
De  Blenau.  '•  ButI  knov/ that  I  can  trust  to  your 
lionor,  and  therefore  must  say,  that  though  my  late 
illness  may  have  rendered  me  an  outlaw,  by  detain- 
ing me  in  France  after  my  sentence  of  exile,  yet  I 
will  not  regret  it,  as  it  has  given  me  the  opportuni- 
ty of  serving  the  man  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for 
my  life. — There,  sir,  is  my  hand." 

Chavigni  embraced  him  warmly.  "  Let  us  look 
to  the  men  v.ho  ai-e  v.ounded,  Moasieur  De  Ble- 
nau," said  he,  "  and  then  1  will  give  you  a  piece  of 
news  which  however  painful  to  me,  will  be  satis- 
factory to  you.  Cannot  some  one  strike  a  light, 
that  we  may  examine  more  carefully  what  has  oc- 
curred on  this  unhappy  spot  j  for  I  see  many  on  the 
earth." 

"  It  shall  be  done  in  the  turning  of  a  spit,  mon- 
seigneur,'  said  Jacques  Chatpilleur,  who  had  alrea- 
dy collected  some  dry  wood  ;  and  who  now  quickly 
produced  a  tire  by  means  of  the  flint  of  a  pistol. 

The  scene  that  presetted  itself  was  a  sad  one. 
On  the  earth  lay  two  of  Chavjgni's  servants  dead, 
and  one  desperately  wounded.  To  these  was  ad- 
ded Henri  de  La  Mothe,  who  had  received  a  severe 
cut  on  the  head,  and  was  stonned   with   the  blow. 


KICHELIEU.  263 

Not  far  from  the  body  of  the  Norman  lay  his  com- 
panion Callol,  wlio  was  the  pikeuian  Uespatchsd  by 
the  bellicose  mibergiste.  In  addition  to  these  was 
a  robber,  whose  he  ;d  had  been  nearly  severed  from 
his  body  by  the  cutlass  which  wa?  borne  by  Philip 
the  woodman,  in  his  capacity  of  lieutenant  of  the 
kings  forests.;  and  one  so  severely  wounded  by  a 
pistol-ball  from  the  liand  of  Chavigni,  that  his  com- 
panions had  been  obliged  to  abandon  him.  From 
him  they  learned  thai  the  attack  upon  Chavigni  had 
been  preconcerted;  that  understanding  he  was  bend- 
ing his  steps  towards  Montpelier,  Mirteviiie  had 
obtained  exact  information  of  his  course  3  and  find- 
ing that  he  must  pass  through  the  forest  by  Viviers, 
had  laid  in  wait  for  I'im,  with  the  expectation  both 
of  revenge  and  plunder. 

**' And  now,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,"said  Chavigni, 
as  soon  as  their  investigation  ended,  "  whither  does 
your  immediate  path  lay?  You  kn-ow  you  can  trust 
nie." 

•■'  I  do,"  said  De  Blenau.  "  I  go  first  towards  Vi- 
yiers,  to  the  chateau  of  the  late  Marquis  de  Beau- 
mont.' 

"And  I  go  there  too,"  said  Chavigni.  '-I  am 
even  how  expected  ;  for  I  sent  forward  a  servant  to 
anr  ounce  my  coming.!' 

"  Indeed  .'"  exclaimed  De  Blenau,  "May  I  ask 
your  errand  V 

A  faint  smile  curled  Chavigni's  lip,  which  was 
uncommonly  pale.  "You  will  hear  on  my  arrival," 
said  he  ;  "  for  1  see  you  are  ignorant  of  what  has 
lately  taken  place,  though  the  couriers  must  have 
arrived  in  all  the  towns  three  days  ago.  But  let  us 
have  our  wounded  brought  along,  and  we  will  pro- 
ceed to  the  chateau. — Itcannot'be  far  distant." 

The  preparations  were  soon  made — the  chateau 
was  soon  reached — and  Pauline  de  Beaumont  was 
soon  once  more  clasped  in  the  arms  of  her  lover.— 
But  let  all  that  pass. 

"  Madame,"  said  Chavigni,  advancing  to  the  mar- 
chioness, "  you  doubtless  wonder  as  much  as  Mon- 


264  RICHELIEU. 

sieurde  Blenau,  what  can  have  brought  me  hither 
But  as  I  came  to  Montpellier,  I  had  the  kingscom 
mands  to  inform  you,  tnat  the  fine  which  was  im- 
posed upon  your  estates  is  remitted  in  full.  And  to 
you,  Monsieur  de  Blenau,  1  have  to  announce,  that 
your  banishment  is  at  an  end,  for  his  majesty  has 
given  permission  to  all  exiles  to  return  to  France, 
with  a  very  few  exceptions,  among  which  you,  are 
not  included. — I  need  not  tell  you,  from  these  cir- 
cumstances, that  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu  is  dead.' ' 
•'Good  God  !"  exclaimed  De  Blenau,  ''so  soon.'"' 
"  Even  so  .'"'  replied  Chavigni.  '•'  il/onsieur  de 
Blenau,  doubtless  you  are  happy — for  he  was  your 
enemy. — But  he  was  to  me  a  friend — he  was  nearly 
a  father,  and  I  mourn  for  him." 

"  May  he  rest  in  peace  .'"  said  de  Blenau.  "  He 
was  a  great  man.     May  he  rest  in  peace  .'" 

Little  more  remains  to  be  said ;  for  this  long  his- 
tory draws  towards  its  close  The  borrows,  the  dan- 
gers, and  the  difficulties,  which  had  so  loj*g  sur- 
rounded De  Blenau  and  Pauline,  had  now  passed 
away,  like  the  storms  of  a  summer  day,  that  over- 
cloud the  morning,  but  leave  t^e  evening  calm  and 
fair.  They  were  united  in  the  beautiful  valleys  of 
Lauguedoc,  and  in  the  fair  scienes  where  lhey»had 
first  met,  they  continued  to  live  on  in  happiness  and 
love,  till  the  hand  of  time  led  them  gently  to  the 
grave. 

That  generation  and  its  eve^its  have  passed  away; 
but  their  still  remains  one  record  of  the  hero  of  this 
tale  3  for  in  a  little  village  church,  between  Argen- 
ti^re  and  Viviers,  stands  a  fine  marble  tomb,  with 
the  figure  of  a  knight  sculptured  in  a  recumbent 
posture.  Underneath  is  engraven  the  date— one 
thousand  six  hundred  and  eighty-five,  with  the  sim- 
ple inscription, 

"  Ci  git  Claude,  Comte  de  Blenau." 


I 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


B     000  003  346    4 


